Extraordinary Heroes
by Bob the Robot
Summary: In one moment, amazing things can happen. All it takes is one person, one action, and one desire to change the course of history forever. But you don't have to be particularly extraordinary to become a hero. HeroesOC.
1. It was a perfect day, what happened?

Hello, Everyone! This is the sequel/prequel to _Ordinary People_. And, although the plot doesn't deal directly with it, you may want to read _Dear Haley _to gain some context for this one.

It took forever to write, but I'm glad I took my time. Pay attention to the details in the plot because this is a story where it gets brighter the closer you get to the end. I'm sure that you'll have some questions, so feel free to ask. I only ask that you are patient. In the end, my hope is that you enjoy, and are entertained by, my story.

* * *

**JACOB**

"You are so stupid!" Mom screams. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Will you shut up?" Dad says as he shakes the map. "I'm trying to follow the directions!"

"Daniel!" she barks, this time with a tone of annoyance. She flicks her head towards me.

Dad looks back, says something to Mom, and walks ahead a few steps. She follows him. I know they're still going to argue, but they think, since I'm only thirteen, I don't know any better.

God, I hate this family trip.

My parents don't like each other very much. In fact, it would be a major _understatement _if I said they hate each other.

They've probably plotted out, in detail, how they're going to kill one another. All they ever do is argue. If it's not about their jobs, it's about their money. If it's not their money, it's the food. If it's not the food, it's each other. Talk about being uncomfortable. I hate it when they argue about the other person right to their face. They scream insults and blame each other and all I'm thinking is: _how in the world am I going to sleep tonight?_

I can still hear them.

"You don't know where you're going."

"Yes I do."

"Then why aren't we there yet! You are so useless. You've never been good at anything, Daniel. If we took a cab, like _I_ wanted to, we would've been there already."

"Yeah, with this traffic, we'd get there in no time! Don't be an idiot."

"I am not an idiot!"

"I thought we decided not to fight on this trip!"

"You're making it difficult by getting us lost!"

"Ugh! Will you just _shut up_?"

I close my eyes. I try to concentrate on the noise of the street. There must be something I can use as a distraction. A hot dog vendor comes up on my right and I knock over the ketchup and mustard bottles, purposefully making sure he sees me as I do it. I kick the loose wheel on the left side just for good measure. The vendor looks mad.

"Oops!" I chuckle and keep walking.

"We should've taken a left at that last street," I hear ahead of me.

"No, you don't know anything. Who's holding the map? That's right. I am."

Mom just stays silent. She must be thinking of an insult she hasn't used yet.

They didn't even notice what I did.

Watching them argue is like watching a chess game go into stale mate: Hours of waiting only for the game to end without a winner. It's totally disappointing. I was forced to be on the chess team in seventh grade because I was a "troubled youth" who needed an outlet. It was basically my punishment for breaking all of the computers in the computer lab. You'd think a better outlet would be football or wrestling (Maybe they thought I'd have too much fun).

Sometimes I wish they'd just get a divorce and be done with it. At least all of the arguing could lead to something productive.

Yeah, sometimes I wonder why they're still together. Do they stay together to torture each other? Do they stay together to torture me?

They're doing a pretty good job of doing both.

Sometimes I wish I had the courage to say something to them. Actually, not sometimes... all the time. I lie awake most nights and think about all the things I could say. The sad thing is that no matter how many things I think of, I'm not going to say them. Even if I did, it wouldn't matter anyway.

I'm invisible to them. They wouldn't even listen.

I normally just keep those thoughts to myself since there's no one I can tell them to. It's not like I have any friends I can talk to and the only time my parents notice me is when I do something stupid...

I wonder what the hot dog vendor did after I knocked over his ketchup and mustard bottles. He looked pretty angry.

* * *

We continue to walk around for about half an hour without a real destination in mind. Mom and Dad seem way too quiet. I know it's a weird thing to say but it's different when they're not yelling at each other. They've been talking and looking at me a lot but they're not yelling anymore. And I'm not sure if it's a _good different_ or a _bad different_... it's just different.

They stop at the corner of the street, right before the cross-walk, so I stop too. Dad nods his head very slowly, as if he's agreeing with something but secretly doesn't want to. Mom glances at me, says something else, and he nods again. I stay where I am, a few feet behind, watching them. Dad looks at me and smiles. I don't know what to do so I smile back.

"Get over here, Jay," he says with a flick of his wrist.

He hasn't called me "Jay" in forever. It was his nickname for me when I was a kid. It was always "Jay" this or "Jay" that. It's nice to hear him say it again. Without another thought I walk to him and wait for him to say something else.

He messes up my hair with his huge hand like he used to do when I was eight years old.

I laugh and tell him to stop.

He chuckles. "Your mom and I were talking and we forgot that this is a _family_ trip. We haven't been seeing or doing anything that you'd be interested in. You must be bored out your mind."

Even though he's completely right, I play it cool. "Whatever. I don't really care."

"What do you want to do, Jay? What do you want to see?"

Mom smiles and puts her arm around me. "We're gonna do whatever you want to do."

This is nice. They're not yelling anymore. They're not insulting each other. They're actually working together as a team.

Maybe all this arguing will _finally_ lead to something productive after all.

* * *

Have you ever had a perfect day? A day where everything seems to go right. A day where everything works out. A day, that if you hadn't just lived it, you'd think was nothing more than a good dream.

I really hope I'm not dreaming because it's only nine o'clock at night and already I can say that _this_ is a perfect day.

We spend hours at the toy store, the arcade, and a comic book store. They let me choose whatever I want to do, so at the comic book store, I decide to let them choose the next place. I know it's going to be somewhere lame, but it doesn't matter as long as I'm with them.

I'd go anywhere with them at this point. It finally feels like a family.

It almost seems like they know I'm going to let them choose our next destination because as soon as I ask them, both Mom and Dad answer at the same time: Willis Tower.

Apparently, it's one of the tallest building in the world now that the Twin Towers are gone. Top five I think (not all that impressive in itself). There must be something important about it since they both want to go there.

As we walk, Dad tells me everything he knows about the building and I let him think I'm interested. He points to it as we get closer. One thing that I can admit is that it's gigantic.

I walk between the two of them, making sure my pace is the same as theirs. My arm locks with Mom's and she looks at me with a smile. I forget how tall I'm getting; she's probably only an inch taller than I am now. Her eyes look a little glossy. I don't know if she's so happy that she's about to cry or if all of the lights from the city are just making them look that way.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing," she says quickly, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "It's nothing. Look we're here"

I try to get a glimpse of the sky without any luck. All I can see is the never ending bend of the tall building. Dad nudges my shoulder and tells me that we're gonna go to the very top.

* * *

It really is amazing.

It makes me feel powerful. It sounds kind of strange, but being so high off the ground makes me feel like nothing can stop me, nothing can hurt me, like I'm the most powerful person in the world and this is my throne, above every building, above every person. I'm so close to the sky I can almost touch it. I lean over the guard rail to get a better view, pretending that I'm flying above the city, the crisp late autumn air swirling around me.

Dad sighs heavily. "Having fun?"

I give him a thumbs up sign and continue on with my flight.

He and Mom turn away from the scene and start heading for the door that leads back inside. "Come on. There's one more thing we want to do."

I take a look at the sky for the last time. As my eyes come back down, I notice the doorman. He has a nose like a bird's beak, big and pointy at the end, and his head is as round as a basketball. He doesn't look very friendly and the more he smiles the more creepy he becomes. You'd think a fancy place like this would put a better looking doorman to greet us.

There is an urge in me to say something. People need to know that they freak people out. I know I shouldn't, but it's hard to break old habits. "What's wrong with your face?" I yell out as we walk past him. "Your nose is huge!"

He glares at me but there's nothing he can do about it.

"Jacob!" Dad smacks the back of my head.

My mom raises her voice. "Don't hit him."

I playfully punch back to let her know I knew he was only kidding. "It's not a big deal, Mom. It didn't even hurt."

"See? I didn't hurt him, Nancy. I'm just teaching him a lesson."

"And that's how you teach him a lesson? By hitting him in the back of the head?"

"Are you criticizing my parenting skills now?"

"No, I'm criticizing your competence as a parent!"

_Wait. What just happened?_

He laughs and shakes his head. "I _knew_ you couldn't keep it up. I knew it."

"You knew what, Daniel? Tell me what you knew!"

"I knew you couldn't keep it together, Nancy. You are the worst parent ever."

"_I'm_ the worst parent ever? Says the guy who just hit his kid."

"You know I was just playing around. You always take things too seriously."

"Yeah, _I'm_ the one who takes things too seriously."

I don't know what's happening. My head moves back and forth like a ping-pong ball as I watch them throw knives at each other. I'm so confused. Why are they arguing again? Where did all of this come from? Where did all the happiness go? I desperately try to jump in and reassure them that I wasn't hurt. I knew Dad was kidding.

The more I try the more they push me away.

A kid, about my age, walks by, eyes locked on them as if he's looking at some fish in an aquarium. I step in his way and get in his face. "What are _you_ looking at?"

He doesn't respond. He looks more surprised than anything.

I push him backwards. "What the hell are you looking at?"

I feel a large hand grab my shoulder and whip me around. Dad looks intently into my eyes. It takes every ounce of my power to meet his glare. "What do you think you're doing?" he demands.

I don't have an answer. I knew they would pay attention to me if I did it but saying so isn't going to be a good enough reason. I swallow the large amount of spit that collects in the back of my throat. There are so many things I could say back but there's only one question that I'm concerned with. "Why are you fighting again?" I manage to let out.

His eyes change from a glaring intensity to a hollowed sadness. The grip on my shoulder loosens but he keeps his hand where it is. With a deep sigh, he rubs his eyes. It's at that moment that I realize how tired he looks. I never noticed it until now but he looks exhausted.

I look at Mom. "Why are you fighting again?"

She looks away.

"It was a perfect day. What happened?"

My question hangs in the air like a slowly deflating balloon. The white noise of our surroundings fill in the silence between us. My mind races for something else to say but the same question keeps repeating itself: _What happened?_ One moment everything is fine and in the next it's like nothing changed. And over what? A playful smack in the head?

Dad looks at me again, his dark brown eyes trembling like his hand. "Jay," he says slowly. "There's something your mother and I need to tell you."

I look at her again. This time she meets my gaze. There's no question she's crying now.

"Jay. Look at me."

I look at him.

"Your mother and I are getting a divorce."

That's the word. That's the word I've been waiting for this entire time.

I've thought about this moment millions of times. Each time I think about it, though, it's completely different than this one. In my scenario we're at home and I'm sitting in my room, leaning against my door, trying to ignore the newest argument they're in. They'd rip each other a new one in the hallway, or maybe in the living room, and in the midst of all of the shrapnel I'd hear it. Honestly, I thought it would be my Mom who'd say it.

"I want a divorce!" she'd yell at the top of her lungs.

And then Dad would scream: "Thank God!"

But this is totally different. This isn't how I imagined it at all.

This hurts.

How can one word be so heavy? I thought I'd feel relieved. I thought hearing him say it would make me smile, but I don't feel relieved at all. I'm definitely not smiling. I feel like a huge boulder is sitting on my chest and it's crushing me.

"We wanted you to have a nice family vacation before we told you."

A nice family vacation? Is he serious? This is how he wants me to remember this? After the perfect day of family happiness, he decides _this_ is how he wants to end it.

"We want you to know that even though your mother and I don't love each other anymore, we still love you... both of us."

Love. Please, I'm thirteen years old. I know what love is. That's complete crap.

"We've thought about this for a long time. It's necessary."

After a pause, Mom takes my hand. It slips through her grasp and falls back to my side. "Say something," she says.

There is so much I _want_ to say. There is so much I _could_ say. In the end, it doesn't even matter. They've made their decision. They want to break us up, nothing I say will fix that.

They fight and argue, they insult each other all the time, but can't they work through it? Do they even want to?

And what am I? Am I just an afterthought? Did they even think about me when they decided to split? I'm part of the family too. Shouldn't I have been involved in this decision?

No matter what I want to say or what question I want to ask, the end result is the same: They're getting a divorce.

I push Dad's hand off of my shoulder. It's heavier than I think. He doesn't say a word. I turn my back towards them and walk in the opposite direction. Mom calls out my name but I don't stop. I don't even slow down.

If they can leave me, I can leave them too.

* * *

Every step takes me farther from them, and every step makes it harder to hold back the tears that don't seem to stay down. I've held back tears before but this time it's different. These aren't tears of sadness. They're of anger. For some reason, I'm so mad I'm on the verge of crying. I don't even know _why_ I'm crying. It's not that big of a deal... Still, it feels like someone keeps punching me in the stomach and there's nothing I can do about it.

I push through the crowd of hundreds of other tourists, unapologetically running into as many of them as I can. They also get mad. They call me names. I don't care. _Their_ parents aren't getting a divorce.

And so what if my parents are getting a divorce? It's not like they're dead.

I walk into a bookstore. There is a display of the newest best-seller near the entrance. I knock over the card-board cutout standing beside it. No one seems to notice. I push over the stack of books on the little display table. An older woman sitting in the reading area looks up from her magazine and eyes me suspiciously. I flip her off, grinning as I do it. With an offended scoff, she gets up and leaves.

I chuckle to myself when suddenly someone knocks into me.

"Get out of my way!" she spits in my face.

As if I need something else to get me even more pissed off about. I push her back. "Watch where you're going!"


	2. Tell me whatever you want

**AMBER**

When I was six years old, my father died from leukemia. It happened suddenly and attacked quickly. Within months of the diagnosis, the doctors were already telling us that the worse was going to happen. Everything was unresponsive, from the chemotherapy to the bone marrow transplants, and, before we knew it, he died.

Looking back, the worse part is knowing how I wasn't old enough to understand the seriousness of his condition. I think if I understood what he was going through, I would've spent more time with him. Sadly, I was just old enough to remember what he was like, from the color of his hair to the way he used to sing me to sleep. The memory of him is strong.

It's hard to forget someone who was such an influential part of my life.

* * *

I pick at the hole in my jeans, the one just above my knee. My bangs fall in front of my eyes so I blow them to the side. It's strange how I can suddenly become very aware of my surroundings. The unnaturally glossy tiles. The eerie echo of distant feet. Even the chair is cold and uncomfortable. And old. I wonder if they purposely make them this way to punish people like me. You know, people who break the law.

I am currently sitting outside of the Security Office at The Willis Tower because I, very successfully I might add, got caught for shop lifting.

Obviously, I didn't _have_ to get caught. I could've stolen the shirt and left from the store without anybody noticing (I've gotten away with it plenty of times in the past). Then again, _getting away with it _was the challenge. The challenge now is getting away _after_ they've caught me.

I sit beside the security guard. His name is Officer Dennis. A rounded, stocky man, possibly with the IQ of a rock. He doesn't look like he'd even get last place in a marathon.

Officer Dennis peers into the Security Office through the large glass window next to the door. His breathing reminds me of one of those sad looking bulldogs. He seems impatient. It's been ten minutes since he's brought me here and he was told to wait for five.

He glances at me. I grin to let him know he's about to be bamboozled. It doesn't seem to work because his left eyebrow rises a little higher than his right. The blank expression afterward confirms his obliviousness.

"Excuse me," I say to get his attention.

He grunts in reply.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

With another glance through the window he turns back to me and nods his head. "Come on, I'll escort you."

Let me tell you something I truly believe in: if there's a will, there's a way. It's cliche but considering what I've gone through, I've learned how true it is, even in the little things. In this case, I _really_ want to escape from this security guard. My will is strong so, of course, there's a way to accomplish it.

The ladies' restroom is a good distance away. If I go right now, I will definitely out run him, but that's too easy. I'm looking for more of a challenge. If, once I get inside, I try to climb up into the bathroom ceiling to escape, he will hear me and catch me before I can do anything. That will take too much time anyway. I need to think of something quick but not as complicated.

Third time's a charm.

Subtly, I step on my shoe lace to undo the knot. Looking back I smile innocently and kneel down to tie it. As I do, I notice a group of tourists. There is about seven or eight of them, huddled together like a frightened school of fish, briskly moving down the large corridor towards us. It looks like they have a very specific place to be, which can be used to my advantage.

"I thought you had to go to the bathroom," Officer Dennis grumbles at me.

"I do, I do. Hold your horses," I reply, stalling for more time.

Slowly, I stand up and wait for the group of tourists to pass behind my dim-witted escort.

One. Two. Three.

Quickly, I turn around and jam my foot into his shin as hard as I can. With a comical squeal he grabs at his leg and, with his body off balance, I push him into the line of tourists walking behind him. They fall over like dominoes.

I playfully wink to him. "Catch me if you can, Officer... Stupid!"

Running away as fast as I can, I hear Officer Dennis yelling into his walkie-talkie, probably to warn the rest of his overweight companions about me. I really wish I had said something better before I left. Oh well, at least I got away... but I have no idea where I'm going.

I turn the corner, twisting and dodging my way through the traffic of shoppers and tourists, cautiously eying the crowd to make sure there aren't any more Rent-A-Cops around. My fingers are twitchy. My nose is numb. There is so much adrenaline coursing through my body. Behind me, Officer Dennis waddles his way through the crowd.

Without thinking, I turn into a bookstore and run into somebody standing near the entrance.

"Get out of my way!" I say.

"Watch where you're going!" He yells back.

The strangely authoritative, yet whiny, command comes from a boy. He's about a head shorter than me. I find it funny that he has to look up while he's yelling at me. Short spiky hair, a hooded sweater that is probably a size too big for him, and straight jeans that accentuate his skinny legs, he looks like someone straight out of a junior Zumiez magazine.

I really don't have the time to deal with some kid who thinks he's entitled to walking space. With a role of my eyes, I brush him off and continue to the back of the bookstore.

He follows me. "Hey! I said: Watch where you're going."

Who is this kid? What's his problem?

"Did you hear me?" he says with a prepubescent squeal.

"I heard you," I say, irritation slowly growing.

He grabs my arm and whips me around, giving me a little shove as he does. "Hey! I'm talking to you."

I have to admit: for someone who looks like he still wets his bed he's got a lot of spunk. "And I'm ignoring you. Take a hint."

He points his finger at me accusingly. "You bumped into _me_."

"Yeah, so?"

"Watch where you're going."

It's almost as if he _wants_ to get into an argument. "What is your problem?" I say. "Didn't your mom ever teach you manners?"

"Shut up! You don't know me!"

He pushes me again, this time a little bit harder. I fall into the book shelves of the science fiction section. I glance at a man walking pass the aisle. A few curious heads poke around the corner to investigate the commotion.

This is starting to get out of hand. Officer Dim-wit might find me if he makes any more noise (Officer Dim-wit! I should've called him that!).

I don't care if he's younger than I am, he's getting on my nerves.

"Get out of my face!" I growl and push him back. My body tenses up just in case he wants to push me again.

His eyes begin to well up. Great. Now he's gonna start crying.

A worker from the bookstore shows up. "Is there a problem here?"

"Yes, there is a problem," I reply harshly. "Someone needs to find this kid's _parents _and get him out of here."

"Damn it!" He screams and slams his fist into a nearby bookshelf. Surprisingly, the shelf snaps. I didn't expect someone like him to have such a powerful punch. Something I said must have really set him off.

"What's your deal?" I sneer.

With another amusing high pitched squeal, he lunges towards me, but this time I'm ready. As he moves forward, I grab his arms and swipe my foot against his shins. At the same time, I pull him down. He trips and lands on his face.

"Don't mess with me, kid," I laugh. "Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I don't know how to fight."

"Damn it!" he screams again and pounds his fist into the ground.

At that moment the ground shakes uncontrollably.

Every instinct in my body says to run, to escape, to do something other than stand here in a silent stupor, but I can't. I can't move.

It's as if the world is a baby's rattle and we are trapped on the inside, thrown in any direction. I try to get any sort of equilibrium but all around me is chaos. The book shelves rock and sway. The ground trembles more violently, knocking me on top of the boy. People fall forward as others try to regain their balance. Everything tilts to the side and shakes before everything suddenly comes to a halt.

What the hell is an earthquake doing in Chicago?

"Get off of me!" the boy yells.

I find it difficult to hear him because there are so many other sounds to distract me. I can hear screams from every direction, bursting pipes and crumbling walls. Covering my head, a pile of books fall on top of me. The more I try to stand the tougher it is to gain balance.

The boy slithers out from under me. "Thanks for nothing!" he spits, stumbling against the wall to gain balance. He looks scared, and quite possibly disoriented from the earthquake itself. Clumsily, he runs off towards the back of the store. I hear a crack as a broken book case slides to crash into him.

Damn it.

Quickly, I make a mad dash to catch up. "Hey!"

He doesn't look back.

"Hey, look out!" I call out again.

I need to remember the broken table leg and the little girl who will run into me 'cause if I don't, he's dead.

Amidst all of the confusion and all of the screams, I manage to catch up with him, grab his arm, and pull him out of the way just as the bookshelf crashes into the wall.

He snatches his arm away from my grasp. "Don't touch me!"

I guess that's the thanks I get for saving his life.

Suddenly he backs up into the closet door behind him. He definitely looks frightened about something (just when I think he couldn't be any more jittery). His big eyes and skinny legs begin to shake, reminding me of a scared little dog.

"What's wrong with you?" I say.

He responds by opening the closet and jumping in.

I turn around to see another book case hurdle towards me.

This is really going to hurt.

* * *

In the first memory of my father I am three years old. Sometimes the memory is hazy, as if it is some sort of wonderful dream. Other times the recollection is so clear I can even remember the way he smelled: like home. He was wearing dark sunglasses and a red shirt, or maybe it was a sweater. I distinctly remember how soft it was.

I remember sitting in the grass with a scrape on my knee. A small little scrape but it was the world of pain to me at the time. He bent down and said something to me. He said: "It's gonna be alright". He said: "I'm here now" and then, with his soft hands, he picked me up and cradled me in his arms, the soft red sweater against my cheek.

I remember feeling safe. I remember feeling warm.

That's the first memory I have of him.

* * *

I wake up to the sound of whimpers, soft and almost muffled. A layer of dust hangs in the air and I cough when I try to take a deep breath. As I do, the whimpers stop.

Opening my eyes, I see the boy, sitting against the back wall. He has his knees to his chest, wrapped up in his one-size-too-big-sweater.

"Are you okay?" I manage to let out through two or three more coughs.

He nods his head.

"Was that you crying just now?"

He hesitates to answer. "No."

Through the small ray of light that seeps into the closet, I see his watery eyes. "Whatever," I reply, wiping the dust off of my clothes.

A throbbing pain in the back of my head reminds me of my genius attempt to stop the book case from hitting me. I must have hit my head when I fell inside. I wonder how long I've been unconscious.

Slowly, I attempt to walk around in the small space to get my bearings. The doorway is blocked off by the book case, too heavy to lift; the ceiling is now the back wall, the back wall is now the floor. Inside are an array of janitorial materials: toilet paper rolls, brooms, mops, washing and disinfecting bottles... nothing useful. Well, maybe the toilet paper but that would be a little awkward.

"Hey! Anybody out there?" I yell as loudly as I can. Nobody responds to me.

That's just great.

What a crazy day. It's definitely full of excitement: getting caught by Officer Dim-wit and then escaping from him, arguing with this little brat, and now an earthquake, which, by the way, still doesn't make any sense. What is an earthquake even doing in Chicago? I think this is the second time I've asked that. Has there ever been an earthquake in Chicago before? I'm not sure.

He begins to whimper again, with a pathetic attempt to hide it.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask.

"I'm fine! Go mind your own business."

Well, I guess that's that. He's not going to let me help him. Obviously, he doesn't want it and, if he doesn't, then I'm not gonna waste any energy on him.

He wipes his eyes with his sleeve.

Damn it. Against most of my urges to leave him alone, I crawl over to where he sits. "If you were fine, you wouldn't be crying."

"I'm not crying!"

"Well you're eyes definitely don't leak water for no reason."

He doesn't respond.

"Let me see what's wrong with you." I grab his arm and try to pull him towards me but he screams. Immediately I let go. "Okay, no grabbing of the arm."

He brings it closer to his chest, grunting in pain as he does.

I scoot closer, doing everything I can to assess the situation. I have no medical experience whatsoever so anything I try might make things worse. His arm could be completely shattered or just severely bruised. I have no way of knowing.

"Can you move it by yourself?"

Biting his lower lip, he attempts to. He shakes his head. "It hurts too much."

"Where does it hurt?"

"Right here." He points to his shoulder.

Maybe his arm is dislocated. "Okay," I say. "Don't move it. Just keep it elevated."

Poor kid. There's not too much I can do for him at this point but try to keep his mind off of the pain. He looks so sad. I guess I can just talk to him. It's not like I have the best conversation skills but now is the best time to start practicing.

"So," I begin. "What's your name?"

He looks at me suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because I was thinking about calling you Emo Kid but I thought you might get a little offended," I say. I also smile to let him know that I wasn't being serious.

He grins briefly before wincing in pain.

"What's your name?" I ask again.

"Jacob."

"It's nice to meet you, Jacob."

He responds with a flick of his head.

"I'm Amber."

"Amber," he whispers.

"How old are you, Jacob?"

He still doesn't want to talk but he does anyway. "Thirteen."

"Thirteen? That's a bit young to be here by yourself."

He hesitates. "I'm not by myself."

"Who are you here with?"

There is a moment when it looks like he's about to start crying again, but he wipes his eyes with his free sleeve. I remain quiet, allowing him the time to compose himself. His head falls against the wall and he takes a deep breath. "My parents."

"That's nice," I say. "A family, together, visiting Willis Tower. Are you from here?"

"Family," he says so bitterly you'd think he was chewing on sour candy. "No, I'm not from here. And it wasn't nice at all."

"Oh."

"It was the worse day of my life."

I don't really know how to respond. "I'm sorry."

He scoffs. I guess he didn't want any sympathy. Still, I need to keep him talking to keep his mind off of the pain.

"What happened?" I ask.

"I... I don't want to talk about it."

I chuckle. "What? Don't like your family?"

After glaring his eyes at me, Jacob looks down at his feet.

Classic thirteen year old. I wonder what his issue is with his family. Probably the normal stuff: They don't get me, they won't let me do what I want. "So you hate your parents too?" I ask. There isn't a response, which doesn't surprise me. "Well, it makes sense," I start.

He wipes his eyes again and looks at me. "What does?"

"You hate your parents. I get it. I know how you feel."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I hate my step-father."

Now he's starting to get interested. "Really?"

"Yeah," I reply very matter-of-factly. "I _really_ hate my step-father."

"Why?" he asks with a soft whisper.

I take a deep breath. There are so many reasons why I hate the man. "I hate him because he's harsh. He's... an abusive jerk and... and I hate him."

This time Jacob doesn't know how to respond. "I'm sorry."

He has no idea what I've been through, all of the things I've had to live with. It must be nice to be so naive. He probably thinks the whole world is against him. He probably wants to punch something right now. He probably has all of his emotions bottled up just ready to explode.

"Why are you talking to me?" he asks after a small lull in the conversation.

With a hint of playfulness in my voice, I quickly respond. "Cos I'm trying to lure you into a false sense of security before I steal all of your money!"

He chuckles slightly. "No really. Why are you talking to me?"

I guess it wouldn't hurt to humor him a little. "Well, at first it was because I needed you to get your mind off of your shoulder, but now I'm just wondering why you're so uptight."

"Oh," he lets out like a breath. "Nobody ever listens to me... it's nice to be heard once in a while."

"Well, Jacob, I like to listen." Taking a seat in front of him, I bring my legs up to my chest and make myself comfortable. "Tell me whatever you want."

"Like what?"

"Like... Why do you hate your parents?"

There is a small quiver in the corner of his lip. Immediately, I feel bad for him. "They... don't see me," he says slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"They're so busy yelling at each other. They're _always_ yelling at each other. All the time. It never stops." He pauses but doesn't even try to wipe the tears. "I don't know why they do it either. He said that they don't love each other anymore. What does that even mean?"

"Who said that they don't love each other anymore?"

"My dad! He said that even though they don't love each other anymore, they still love me. How is that possible? They loved each other when they made me, right?"

I hold back a chuckle. "That's a whole different subject, Jacob."

"Well they _don't_ love me! They don't care about me!" He shouts angrily. "They never loved me! And I hate them! I hate them!"

The room shakes. It's another earthquake, except bigger this time. My first instinct is to freeze like I did before, but all thoughts about my fear induced paralysis disappear when I think about first helping Jacob. Grabbing at anything I can, I try to keep my stability. I tell him to hold on to something. The walls crack and the dust rises up like a snow globe. I struggle for some air. He screams, either because of his arm or something entirely different. And I close my eyes, wishing for it to be over.

The bookcase snaps. Great. Now we're gonna get crushed.

The quake stops as quickly as it began. I can only assume that it did just as much damage as the first. Jacob groans with pain as he tries to sit up. The aftershock is over, but it definitely roughed him up a bit.

"Is there anybody down there?" I hear from above.

"Yes!" I immediately call back. "There's two of us down here!"

"Hold on! I'm coming!"

Rushing to his side, I hold him still. "Don't try to move, Jacob. Someone is on their way right now."

He buries his nose in my shoulder and cries like a child would with his mother. From all of the outbursts and violent behavior he's shown I no longer chalk it up to a bad attitude. There's something more, something deeper to see. I see him now as a child without his mother... _and_ father for that matter. He feels lost and alone and unloved. He's broken. And I cradle him as carefully as I can, like my father did for me when I was a kid.

"It's going to be okay," I whisper. "Everything is going to be alright. Help is coming."

* * *

Thanks for reading and please review!


	3. Take a deep breath, count to five

**HALEY**

Hospitals are depressing to be in. They're full of sicknesses, diseases, and people who are just waiting to die. It's even worse if you work at one. You see the sick and the diseased and the dead on a regular basis, and unless you figure out some way to cope with everything, you won't make it; there's just no way you can make it.

It takes a certain type of person to be a doctor. Sure you need the brains, an aptitude for science and the capability to cope with various problems, but, above all, you need to have _the desire to help people_. If you don't have that, you'll get crushed within days. I've seen it happen too, aspiring men and women who fail to go a week in their first year of residency because they don't have what it takes. And when they see their first death, when they make their first call, when they feel the weight of someone's life on their shoulders, they give up.

I learned what it means to care for people from an old friend of mine, my _best_ friend. He was the strangest, yet most endearing person I have ever met. His name is James.

James stopped me from making the biggest mistake of my life. He showed me what it means to be a hero, to impact someone's life so drastically that it even saves them. I haven't seen him for almost ten years, but I still think about him.

He's the reason why I went into medicine.

* * *

A Code Red in the hospital I work at means that a disaster has occurred and casualties are on the way. Normally, the word "casualties" is used as a relative term to the disaster, and in this case, an earthquake in a city that rarely has shocks so massive, I know that those casualties are going to be high.

Today is going to be busy.

For some reason, knowing what I'm going to expect doesn't make doing my job any easier.

It is a mad house. I barely have any time to make a medical assessment before another person comes through the double doors and I have to do it all over again. For me, how I treat and handle patients is kinda like how those stage performers balance spinning plates: you have to balance your time and energy on all of them perfectly or else they'll fall. I've done that to the best of my ability since my first day as a doctor and today is no different. One after another, the EMT's bring in the next plate to spin and I have to balance them along with the rest.

There are so many that come in too late, men, women, even some children (Ask any doctor. It's harder to call in the death of a child than an adult). A boy, probably no older than seven, lays motionless on the bed. I look at his small, broken body. Trauma to the head caused internal bleeding and he died on the way to the hospital.

He barely lived his life. His little fingers are soft to the touch. His face still has a rosy hue from childhood innocence. An overwhelming feeling of sadness grips my stomach and doesn't let go. The nurse beside me feels the same way. As she holds her stomach, her hands tremble.

I can't look anymore, so I turn around and face the wall. Closing my eyes, I focus on my task at hand. _He was dead before he came to me, there was nothing I could've done,_ I whisper to myself. _There are people here that I __**can**__ help_. Saying it out loud loosens the grip on my stomach. I have to remember: this is what I live for. I'm going to do everything in my power to help them, even if their time has come.

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I count to five to clear my head. "There's nothing we could've done," I say aloud.

"I... I know," The nurse says as she nods her head and leaves. She's still shaking.

A call from behind gets me out of my head. "Doctor, can you help me, please?"

A woman walks towards me in a dust covered blazer supporting a young boy, followed closely by a second, younger, woman. The boy cradles his right arm and I notice the still drying tears over his dusty face. Throwing my stethoscope around my neck, I meet up with them. "Was he also in the earthquake?"

"Yes," she replies. "I think he has a dislocated shoulder."

As she assists me to put him on a gurney, I notice a badge hanging on her belt. "Thank you, Officer," I say while simultaneously calling over a nearby nurse.

"It's White. Agent Sarah White."

"Thank you, Agent White." I say as she stands back, uncomfortably readjusting her blazer. I give her a nod of reassurance, to let her know that she did everything she could've done. "We can handle it from here."

"Is he going to be okay?" the younger girl asks.

"Yes," I assure her. I look at him. "What's your name?"

"Jacob."

"Jacob, can you lift your arm by yourself?" With a shake of his head, I nod to Belle, a nearby nurse. "Let's get this sweater off."

Belle takes some scissors and cuts his shirt and sweater in half so we can inspect his arm with as little discomfort as possible. "His right upper extremity is internally rotated," she notes. "The head of the humerus is protruding anteriorly."

I take a mental note of her observations. Pressing gently on his shoulder, he whimpers and looks away. "Jacob, on a scale from one to ten," I say, "how badly does it hurt?"

He bites his lower lip and wipes his eyes with the back of his free hand. "Six."

I look at Belle to tell her that it probably hurts a lot more than he'll admit before I continue with my examination. No crepitus is noted. His clavicle, mid and distal humerus, and elbow and forearm are all non-tender. His sensation and pulses are intact distally and his axillary nerve function is also intact.

"Give him 2 milligrams of morphine intravenously and then bring him down to Radiology so we can get some X-Rays of that right shoulder."

Belle nods her head and takes him away, another one come and gone.

A pat on my shoulder gets my attention. It's the girl again. "Doctor... uh?" she says carefully, trying to find the name tag on my white coat.

"Haley," I help her out. "You can just call me Haley."

The girl gives me a hug. It's a little unexpected. "Thank you, Haley."

"You're welcome," I reply, embracing the appreciation. "And you are?"

"My name is Amber."

"Are you related to Jacob?"

"No," she says slowly, as if saying it quickly would mean something entirely different. She shrugs her shoulders. "I just met him today."

"Really? You seem pretty concerned about a stranger you've just met, Amber. That's very noble. I don't meet too many people like you." I look to her with a warm smile. "You must be some kind of hero."

She chuckles and shakes her head. "We were in the middle of both earthquakes together... and I was there for him when he needed me."

"He looks about fourteen years old," I muse out loud. "Why were you and Agent White the ones to bring him in? Where are his parents?"

All I get is a shrug. "He's thirteen, but I don't know where his parents are. He and I were stuck in a supply closet and Sarah saved us after the second shock."

"What about you? Where are your parents?"

Scoffing like I had just insulted her, she raises her nose a little higher than mine. "I'm nineteen years old, thank you very much."

"Doesn't mean you don't have parents," I counter.

She gives in. "I came with my mom, but I wasn't with her when the earthquakes happened. I don't know where she is." She pauses and then continues. "I'm sure she's fine. I'm more concerned about Jacob. I don't think his parents are very nice people."

"What makes you say that?"

Amber looks away from me very quickly as if she's hiding something. Hesitantly, she crosses her arms. "I don't know if I should say anything."

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me. I was just curious."

"Well," she begins, "before the second shock hit, he was in the middle of telling me how upset he was about his parents' divorce. It just seemed like they weren't the best, you know?"

I nod my head.

"It just happened too," she finishes, "so he's not handling it very well."

Parents can be quite an influential part of a child's life. I know first hand the kind of scars a parent can give. It takes a long time to heal from them, to accept them and move on (Fortunately, I didn't have to deal with divorce in my family. I can only imagine what a divorce can do to a young person like Jacob).

"Poor kid," I say. "It's a good thing he has you then."

There is a small twinkle that sparkles in her eyes as I say it. A smile envelopes her face. "Yeah," she proudly nods. "It _is_ a good thing he has me."

* * *

No matter how old we are, parents will always have an impact on our lives. My parents used to be extremely strict. Growing up in a world full of prestigious accolades and honors, my parents lived in high society.

When I was born, my life consisted of everything they had growing up and more. It sounds great (I mean, who wouldn't want to have their own personal maid, a private school and a limousine to use whenever they want?) but they worried so much about their own reputation, I was nothing more than a footnote in _their_ life. I didn't have one of my own. They didn't care about what I wanted. I didn't have a voice. It got to a point where I wanted to kill myself.

I almost did.

James was the one who saved me. He helped me see the value of life, even my own.

He was special. Literally. He could literally do whatever he wanted and go wherever he pleased. James could transport to any destination he thought of in a matter of seconds, and he would take me there. He helped me see a world outside of the cramped lifestyle my parents planned out for me.

I've learned a lot since then.

I talk about my parents as if they were terrible people, but they weren't _terrible_ people; they just didn't go about raising me in the best way. As I got older, my relationship with them improved, especially with my mother. After High School, they didn't push their lives on me. I was given the choice to do what I wanted and they supported me in my decision to become a doctor.

When I think about it, I owe it all to James.

* * *

Jacob returns from Radiology with a confirmation that he has a dislocated shoulder. We perform the scapular manipulation technique to put it back in place with little complications.

"How do you feel, Jacob?" I ask as I hand him a shirt to put on.

He shrugs, tugging on the strap of the sling we put his arm in. "Fine."

He's probably said less than ten words to me since I've treated him. It makes me smile. I guess Jacob isn't a very talkative person, unless, of course, he's talking to Amber.

As soon as she walks into the room, they pick up right where they left off. She asks him about how he feels about the divorce since they didn't get to finish their conversation. Jacob looks at me suspiciously, lowering his voice so that I can't hear what he has to say.

Taking the hint, I leave the room.

Opening the door, I am met by Agent White. She extends her hand, shaking mine as she does. "Hello, Doctor. I don't know if you remember me. I brought in the young boy with the shoulder."

"I remember."

"May I have a word with you?"

"Sure, Agent White," I reply.

"Call me Sarah."

"Alright. What can I do for you, Sarah?"

She looks directly into my eyes with a sense of urgency, the kind where bad news is about to be given. "I need to take Jacob down to the morgue to identify some bodies. We believe they may be his parents."

I hit it right on the head.

Still, the words hit me like a ton of bricks. I don't know why I'm shocked, but my heart is pained by the news. I can only imagine how Jacob is going to take it. My sympathy for him grows deeper. Not only does his parents get a divorce, but both of them die in a freak disaster.

"Yeah," she says to fill in the silence. "I've never done this before, and I wasn't sure if I needed your permission. I thought I should just tell you before I took him down there."

I can barely hear what she says to me. My mind is stuck on Jacob's current situation. Quietly, I nod my head, allowing her to walk pass me into his room. Turning around, I watch as Sarah begins to speak. His face is a window to his emotions. It is an expression of stoic nonchalance, and the more she speaks, the more emotion he tries to suppress. I can see it in his eyes. His eyes are screaming even though his mouth doesn't give it a voice.

Even if you're not a doctor, you have to learn how to deal with loss because it's something everyone goes through, it happens every single day. Death is a normal part of life but, when it happens, somehow we always have trouble accepting it.

Slowly, Sarah leads Jacob down the corridor to the elevator. She hesitates to put her hand on his shoulder before finally she lets it fall back down. I don't think he even notices. He continues to wear apathy like a mask, hiding the storm that rages underneath his skin. Amber stands next to me and watches as they walk away. I look at her. She has so much care in her eyes.

"You should be with him," I say with reassurance.

She turns to me but doesn't respond. I look to her again but she doesn't look back. Her gaze falls upon another body that comes through the double doors behind me.

"Mom?" she gasps.

Immediately she's at her side, asking questions and trying to get her mother's attention. Sadly, she doesn't even know Amber is there. The EMT gives his report to the closest physician: Female, mid forties, massive blood loss, rapidly decreasing heart rate. Injuries to the anterior abdomen and legs. A team of respiratory therapists and nurses help to rush the gurney to the OR.

Amber tries to follow but they won't allow her to. She asks them if her mother will be alright and a nurse tells her that they're going to do their best. The sad thing is that I already know what the outcome is going to be. After a while you can tell which ones are going to make it and which ones aren't.

Amber shakes. She trembles, left alone to stare at the back of the cold double doors. She probably has a million questions plaguing her mind but the only answer she has at the moment is full of uncertainty. Instinctively, I take her by the arm and lead her away from the mess. She needs to get her mind off of her mother.

"Amber," I try to get her attention.

"Where are they taking her?"

"Amber, look at me."

"There was so much blood..."

"Amber."

"Oh God, there was so much blood."

Taking her by the shoulders, I shake her. "Amber, stop thinking."

She looks into my eyes. "What?"

"Count to five."

"No! My mother is God knows where and I'm not there with her! Where is she?"

Her hands are quivering. I take them into mine, calming my voice as I do so. "Amber," I whisper. "Take a deep breath. Count to five."

Amber hesitates, but I nod my head to reassure her that everything will be okay. She closes her eyes, exhales, and says it slowly. "One... Two... Three...Four... Five."

"I know you're worried about your mother right now," I say with as much sympathy as I can give, "but you need to keep yourself together."

"Why?"

I know just what to say. "Because Jacob needs you right now. He needs someone who can comfort him. His parents are dead, Amber. Help him."

She stops trembling. "You're right," she nods. "Jacob needs me to be strong. Jacob needs me to be there for him."

It doesn't matter how we do it, but we all have to find a way to deal with loss. We have to try our best to push through it any way we can or we'll be consumed.

* * *

Sarah stands a few feet away from the morgue door, arms crossed, head down. She paces across the floor with a concerned look on her face. She looks up as we approach. "What are you doing here?"

"Amber wanted to come down here so I volunteered to take her."

She nods her head and looks back at the door, which is slightly ajar.

"How is he?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I don't know. He looked at the bodies, nodded his head and, very quietly, told me to leave. I haven't heard anything in the last-"

Amber suddenly runs by so quickly she almost knocks Sarah over. "Please be there!" she gasps.

"Help!" Jacob's voice suddenly echoes through the morgue doors. It's muffled, but full of urgency. "Let go of me!" he screams again. "Help! Help!"

There are so many things running through my mind: Why is he screaming for help? He's in a morgue. The only other persons in the room are dead. How did Amber know Jacob was going to cry for help? It's almost as if she knew he was going to do it.

I run to his voice, followed closely by Sarah. Amber is the first to reach the handles and to throw the doors open. "Don't touch him!" she yells.

A man has Jacob by the arm, pulling him closer to the back of the room. The intruder is wearing a black suit, hemmed, and fitted. The narrow tie around his neck is loosened at the collar. His face looks familiar.

Our eyes make contact.

"Haley?" He says in shock.

Oh my God.

Amber rushes in.

He looks at me one final time and disappears right in front of our eyes.

"Damn it!" Amber curses.

Sarah stumbles to the spot where he disappeared, touching the farthest wall. She's probably more shocked about the disappearing act than Jacob's kidnapping, but there's no way for me to know for sure.

"What the hell was that?" she stutters.

Apparently I am right again.

"_Who_ the hell was that?"

My mind flashes back to a time when I was lost, when I was young, back to when a boy helped me to become a better person, back when I was comfortable, safe. And happy. I can see his face. I can hear his laugh. "James," I whisper.

"What?" Sarah asks.

"His name is James."


	4. I guess it's just one of those cases

**SARAH**

I've always wanted to do something big.

I've always wanted to be a part of something greater.

Sure, you might say, everyone wants their life to amount to something, but this is different. I _know_ I'm meant for something larger than this repetitive clockwork I call life. I wake up and go to sleep, that's basically all I do, it's all I've known. It's my life. But I am meant for something better. My drive for greatness is inside me like a slowly dying ember, hanging on to the last amounts of oxygen to stay alive.

No, that's not what it's like at all. It's more like a like _a train _that I've missed, and I'm waiting for another to come down the tracks to take me somewhere better.

And _that_ is the problem. It always seems like the _timing_ isn't right. Whenever the opportunity for greatness presents itself, something or someone gets in the way and tells me that I can't do it or that I'm not ready.

* * *

Nothing exciting ever happens to me.

Case in point: I am standing outside of a hospital's morgue, watching my best friend question the only person who knows anything about the man who took Jacob. This should be _my_ case. _I_ should be the one in there interrogating the doctor about the whole thing. I'm the one who was there when it happened.

I'm the one who saw him disappear.

Or did I? Maybe it was an optical illusion. People just don't disappear into thin air.

It's typical though. It's my first year as an FBI Agent and I _still_ haven't been put on any good cases.

Agent Anne Lara, my best friend, sits coolly in a chair in front of Haley. She's getting confirmation on the morgue incident. Well, _that_ and any information as to why she knows the guy who took Jacob. I should be the one in there.

"Let me get this straight," she says quickly, obviously trying to wrap her head around the story. "You hear Jacob cry for help, you enter into the morgue, and he disappears?"

"Yes, you can ask Sarah or Amber. They saw the same thing."

"It's not that I don't believe you, Haley," Anne says with a reassuring nod. "It's just that I don't believe the possibility of someone disappearing in the way you describe it." She pauses, reflecting once more on what she's been told. "Was there anybody else in the room?"

Haley shakes her head. "The only other people in that room were Jacob's parents." She sighs. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

"No, you've been a great help, Doctor. Thank you."

Haley smiles in response.

Anne flips her notebook to a new page with a flick of her thumb, habitually clicking the end of her pen like a metronome. "So tell me about him," Anne starts. "How do you know him?"

"Who? James?"

"Who else would I be referring to?"

I notice a smirk creep into the corner of her lips. "I knew him when I was a teenager."

Anne notices it too. "High School sweet hearts?"

Haley chuckles and moves a lock of hair behind her ear, as if what Anne asked was a joke. "No, we didn't even go to the same school."

Anne nods her head. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"About ten years ago."

"Any ideas why he'd kidnap Jacob?"

Amber slowly shakes her head. "No. I have no idea. The James I knew would never do something like this. He was very kind and strong. He had a good heart." She pauses to reaffirm her next point. "He wanted to _save_ people... not hurt them."

_Too bad people change,_ I think.

When she realizes Haley has nothing else to say, Anne writes one final note and closes the pad. "I guess that'll be it for now. We'll keep in touch."

"Oh," Haley seems a bit surprised that the interrogation is over so soon, as am I.

"Thanks again for all your help." Anne says with another sigh. "You can go now."

And just like that, it's over. Haley thanks her, nods to me, and leaves. Anne remains for a moment, giving me a look that says just how irritated she is. I'd be irritated too. The interrogation looked so easy. I could've done that. Why couldn't she have let _me_ do it?

Anne finally gets up and stands in the doorway. With a heavy sigh, she rubs as much of the frustration out her eyes as she can. "Nothing about this makes sense." She uses the end of her pen to flip the pages of her notes, making a mental note of everything that is written down. "Even the girl. What's her name?"

"Amber," I fill in.

"Yes. Amber. Both you and Haley said that she ran to the morgue _before_ Jacob even started calling for help. Is she in on this? If she is, what is there to gain? What's her motive?"

"Are you calling her a suspect?" I ask.

She looks at me curiously before looking back down to her notes. "Let's just say she's a person of interest."

That's just another way of saying _Yeah, I think she's a suspect_ but I don't buy it. "If she were in on the kidnapping," I reply, "I don't think she'd be stupid enough to come running _before_ anything even happened."

Anne just sighs. "Nothing make sense."

I shrug. "I guess it's just one of those cases."

She chuckles, patting me on the back as if I'm some naive child who said something I didn't quite understand. "Yeah, Sarah, it's just one of _those_ cases."

I don't like how she said that, with a small hint of sarcasm. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, Rook, you haven't really been on enough cases to know what _these _kinds of cases are like."

I want to wipe that smirk off of her face.

I hate it when she calls me _Rook_. She says it like it's a bad thing. Everyone who is in their first year of _anything_ can be considered a rookie, doesn't mean it's a bad thing. I've worked hard to get where I am now.

It's one thing to make an off handed comment about it, but it's totally different to just go out and say it. "Come on, Anne," I protest. "I've done plenty of cases, I know what I'm talking about."

She just chuckles again. "Sure you do."

"I do!" I'm getting really irritated. "I know what I'm talking about, Anne."

Nodding her head, she walks down the hallway towards the exit. "I know you do, Sarah. I'm just joking. Relax."

"Oh," I say, taken a little off guard. "Okay."

If I would've known she was joking I wouldn't have made such a big deal about it.

* * *

I first realized that I was meant for something more when I was seven years old. Unfortunately, that was also when I first realized that destiny doesn't always show up when you want it to.

I grew up in Northwest Yonkers. It's the biggest city in Westchester, and in the winter it gets really cold. Every day after school my mom walked me home in the freezing weather. And every day we walked alongside the Hudson River.

It was a Friday and on the way home I saw a man drowning in the river. He was pretty far out but I distinctly remember hearing him calling for help. A few people had noticed him, like I had, but most just kept on walking. I remember glancing at my mom to see if she was looking too, but she wasn't very concerned. She just gripped my hand more tightly and continued on.

No one was helping him, and I couldn't understand why, so I told my mom about the drowning man, pointing as frantically as I could. She looked, nodded her head and said: "The police will do something" and left it at that.

But I didn't see any police around. I didn't see _anybody_ doing _anything_ to help him. So I ran to the river. He was in trouble and it was up to me to save him. I was almost to the water when my mom caught up with me. She grabbed me and cradled me close to her, shivering as she did. At the time I thought it was because she was cold.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said to me very sternly.

"He's drowning," I said. "I need to save him."

She looked at me right in the eyes and said: "You _can't_, Sarah. Don't be a hero."

_Don't be a hero, Sarah_. That's what she told me. 

_Don't be a hero._

_

* * *

_

If there is an award for The Worst Coffee in the World, this hospital would definitely be in the running. It tastes like dirty black licorice. Coffee _should not_ taste like black licorice, let alone _dirty_ black licorice. I could've made this better with my eyes closed.

After dumping the remaining "coffee" into the trash, I take my seat in front of Anne at the far end of the cafeteria. She writes a few notes down in her notepad before looking up when I arrive.

"So what do you plan to do?" I ask.

"There's not a lot of leads to go with," she says dryly while she takes a sip of her cup of coffee. My stomach grimaces just seeing her drink the stuff. "I'll have to do some background checks with Jacob and his family, on this James person, and see if there's any connections. I'm also going to do some background checks on Amber and see if there's anything there."

I nod my head in response.

Although I hear what she's saying, my mind is on something else. I tend to multi-task when it comes to thinking and listening and, right now, I am thinking of how I can get myself on this case (I don't think I can over-stress how much I want to finally have something interesting to do).

This is an opportunity of a life time. And let me tell you: for an FBI Agent who's only been in the Bureau for a few months, this is huge. Everything about the case has "Promotion" written all over it. A man who kidnaps a kid and disappears into thin air? That's gold! It's fascinating and has the potential to be very exciting.

The only problem I can foresee is that I'm based in New York City. Plus, a rookie asking for any kind of favor is generally looked down upon (The only reason why I'm in Chicago in the first place is because I'm visiting Anne. Even though I'm not in the Chicago District, I think I can get Anne to put me on the case).

"Sounds like you've got your hands full," I say, attempting to increase the idea that she needs me.

"Not really," she replies very plainly, going back to her notepad. "If there's no connection between any of them then I'm just back to square one."

Okay, she's not picking up on the hint. "Sure looks like you need some help."

"No, not really." She doesn't even look up.

Damn. I clear my throat to get her attention. Maybe I just need to come out and say it. "It sure would be nice to have a case like the one you're doing."

I wait for a physical response so that I know she at least heard me, but she doesn't give one. Her words are quick and emotionless. "I'm not gonna put you on the case, Sarah."

"What?" I say with a little bit of innocence thrown in. "I never said I wanted to be-"

Anne finally looks up. "Stop playing games. Just come out and say it."

I'm a little bit surprised by how forward she's being, but I'm not going to let her see it. "I want to be on this case with you."

She chuckles, which leaves me wondering what is so funny. "I know you do. That's why I purposely didn't acknowledge any of your lame attempts to make me ask _you_ if you wanted in."

She thinks she knows me. I hate that. I hate it when she acts like she knows what I'm thinking. "What?" I say quickly. "No, I just wanted to see if you needed help."

"Sure you did, Rook."

I can't believe she said it again. I really wish she didn't call me that. "Well, now that you know, can you put me on the case?"

"Sarah," Anne finally looks up from her notes, "you're not even in my precinct."

Oh man, another opportunity is slipping.

"I know, I know. But that doesn't mean I can't help." I look at her right in the eyes, wishing that I could somehow force this idea into her head. I can't have another opportunity lost to the hands of fate just because I didn't try everything I could. "Please, Anne. I need this."

She smiles, taking out her phone. "Let me make a few calls. I'm sure it's not a problem, but I still need to check."

"Thank you." That was a close one.

Anne slides her chair back like it's on wheels and, with a wave of her hand, silently excuses herself from the table. I can't help but smile. _Finally_. Sometimes it's good to know people who know other people in high places. I sure showed her that this rook knows how to get what she wants (Damn it. Now she's got me calling myself that).

It's funny how, sometimes, we need a push to get what we want. Other times, though, we need to take matters into our own hands and take what we want. I've gotten this far _on my own,_ despite what people have said or the obstacles that got in my way. I am about to get my first real FBI case because I put forth the effort and took control my own fate.

No more waiting for destiny to catch up with me.

* * *

Looking around the cafeteria, I see Amber sitting in the corner at a table by herself, arms crossed, head down, shoulders shaking. It looks like she's crying, which is odd. I didn't know Jacob meant that much to her. Still, nobody seems to notice her.

"Hey Amber," I call out.

She looks up, quickly wiping the stray tears from her cheek.

I smile and wave to her. "Are you okay?"

Before she can answer, tears well up again and she collapses back into her arms. I guess that was the wrong thing to ask.

Quickly, I slide out of my chair, making my way to her. As I approach, it becomes very apparent that I have no idea what I'm going to say. I'm not the best when it comes to emotional stuff and she is obviously very emotional right now.

I probably shouldn't have said anything at all.

I extend my hand but realize that I don't know where to put it. Awkwardly, I pat her on her shoulder a few times. I've seen people do that before. It normally makes them feel better. "It's going to be alright," I say uncomfortably.

She manages to stop crying just long enough to glare at me. Quickly, I retract my hand. Her eyes are piercing, almost as if she's thinking about killing me. Apparently, _that_ was the wrong thing to say too.

"How can you say that?" she growls.

"I don't know. I was just trying to be nice."

Wiping the tears again with her sleeve, she crosses her arms and leans back. "Well, I don't need your pity."

"Sorry," I reply coldly. Unbelievable. I guess some people just don't want any help. "I'll leave you alone then."

"Wait."

Turning back around, I cross my arms. "What?"

She hesitates at first, forcing back any tears that might be trying to crawl back up. "Do you have any new information on Jacob? Have you found him yet?"

"I'm sorry, we haven't been able to find anything substantial."

"Please, Sarah," the words tumble out of her mouth. She lifts her hand to wipe her eyes, but starts to lose control again. This time she lets the tears come. "Please, just tell me anything. My... my mom just... she... she's dead."

I watch sadly as she takes a deep breath and tries again. She must be trying to accept that it happened.

Her voice is weak and it quivers. "I _need_ some good news."

My irritation melts away. Right now, she doesn't need the truth. She doesn't need to know that we have no leads and that we don't know where he is at all. She needs to hear something to raise her spirits. She needs hope. And I'm the one who can give it to her. "We know the name of the guy who took Jacob."

"Really?" She sits up straighter.

"His name is James."

She looks disappointed. "Oh. I already knew that. Haley said it."

I turn around to leave, but stop. I need to give her something else to hang on to. Turning my head, I give her a little bit more hope. "We're following a lead right now."

Quickly, she gets out of her seat. With those same piercing eyes, she gives me a look of promise. I've seen it before. It is a look full of what-ifs and possibilities. "He needs me," Amber says. "He needs me. If there's anything I can do to help him, I want to do it. Please, is there anything I can do?"

There are times when we need to go out and get what we want, but sometimes we're just not ready to obtain it. Sometimes we're not ready to undertake the responsibilities that come with it all. Amber doesn't know what she wants. She thinks that she needs to be the one to save Jacob, but she's not.

That's_ my _job.

There is only so much hope I can give. There is only so much I can say before she she realizes that it's out of her hands.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asks again.

"No," I reply. "The FBI are trying everything in their power to find him, Amber. You should go home. Just sit tight and don't try to be a hero."

* * *

The day I saw the man drowning in the Hudson was a strange day. Up to that point, I had never been affected by death before, I probably didn't even understand the concept fully, but I knew that he was in danger and someone needed to help him.

The weird thing was that nobody did anything about it. Actually, it's probably weirder that I even wanted to save him in the first place.

What seven year old kid wants to save a stranger's life? It's practically unheard of, isn't it? Doesn't that mean something? To me it means I'm different, I'm special. It means I'm not meant for monotony, I'm meant to be so much more, not to be held back, not to be pulled down.

My mom ended up telling a passerby to call the police about the man in the river. When I walked by after school the next day, I looked out into the Hudson, wondering what had happened to him.

I still don't know if he was ever saved.


	5. But that was a very long time ago

**JACOB**

It takes less than thirty seconds to do something amazing. It takes one decision, one idea, one thought, to bring chaos into order, to make everything change for the better. Opportunities to do great things only come once. And when mine appeared, I took it.

I was nineteen years old when I _saved the world_.

Saving the world was the best feeling that I had ever felt. It is possibly the greatest feeling a person can ever feel, the rush of adrenaline as it pumps through every vein in your body. It's exhilarating, like a magnificent free fall without the fear of a sudden stop. It's intoxicating, the feeling of accomplishment, the feeling of greatness, the praise from everyone around you. It was like nothing I had ever felt before.

There was eight of us then: me, Casey, Alec, James, Dawn, Will, David, and Jessica. I remember it very vividly because it all started right after the explosion above New York City. One by one, our destinies crossed paths and my life took an expected turn: A life of heroism, a life full of meaning.

All of us had a common purpose. Fate had brought us together to stop a man bent on destroying our very existence. He was strong but the fighting spirit of humanity was more powerful. We fought back. We didn't give up. And when all hope seemed lost, I killed him. I did what I had to do to save millions of lives...

But like I said: an opportunity like that only comes _once_, no matter how much you want another one. Wishing gets you nowhere. Trying to capture it only makes things worse. And in the end you're left with nothing but questions.

What is it that defines us?

Who decides our identity and the person we will become?

How can someone be both a hero _and_ a villain?

Those aren't the easiest questions to answer because, if you ask me, it all depends on the person. There are so many things that influence our lives, both external and internal. Every moment we live, we are affected by the push and pull of ourselves and the world around us. And each of us are different, unique, with our own perspective to speak of.

It really depends on the choices that we make, how we react to the consequences and how others perceive us afterward.

Let's say a man has a family to feed but he is poor so he steals to provide the necessities to keep them alive. Despite what that man's motivations are, he will be identified with many different labels: a criminal to the police, a provider to the family, and, most likely, a hero to himself. His choice defined him as a person and gave an identity to others.

But, you might say, he still stole, he is still a thief, and stealing is _wrong_. Should he keep stealing to provide for his family? If he asks himself that same question, there is going to be a lot of conflict within him.

Seems sort of like a no-win situation.

What does all of this mean? What does that scenario have anything to do what I'm telling you now?

This is the point: there is a fine line between sympathy and justification. It's definitely easier to justify than it is to sympathize. Believe me. I should know. I've tried to justify myself through too many terrible things, and I _regret_ even trying to in the first place.

It's funny how a lot of people embrace their decisions, whether it's for good or for bad, because, according to them, without those choices, without those outcomes and consequences, they wouldn't be the people they are today.

Well, let me tell you something about myself: I am not proud of the choices I have made over the course of my life. _I don't like_ who I am today. I don't like where my life has led me (Regret would definitely be an _understatement_).

I used to be a hero. A powerful hero who saved the world.

But that was a very long time ago...


	6. Please, don't call me that

**JAMES**

The image of her face quickly passes through my mind and I try to ignore the feeling it leaves in me.

Was Haley really at the hospital? It looked just like her.

My hands tingle slightly at the tips. They squirm constantly against the coarse rubber of the wheel. I grip it more tightly in an attempt to rid myself of the knot in my gut but it doesn't seem to work. The speedometer escalates past the eighty miles per hour mark. I don't know why I'm driving so fast. As I slow down, I look into the rear view mirror and catch a glimpse of the boy, tied up at the hands, mouth covered with duct tape. I can only imagine how scared he is.

It's strange how, with one command from my boss, I am willing to kidnap him without any questions, without a second thought. Sometimes I surprise myself. I mean, I have no idea who this kid is but I do it anyway.

I don't even know his name.

It'll be okay though. I have ten more minutes until I have to be at the parking garage to drop him off.

_Only ten more minutes and he won't be my problem anymore_, I say under my breath._ I won't have to worry about his name_.

Whispering it to myself doesn't give me as much comfort as I think it will. Actually, it makes the knot in my stomach even tighter.

I try to focus on what I'm supposed to do, but his reflection in the rear view mirror keeps bringing me back to the moment. I turn my attention to the road, then to the passing buildings, but his muffled whimpers keep reminding me of the question that I do not want to ask myself: _why am I doing this?_

The obvious answer is because my boss told me to do it.

He calls himself Mr. Boothe. He is a man of prestige, of wealth, of power. He's probably one of the most influential people in Chicago but don't ask me how he attained any of it, I don't have the slightest idea. By the time he approached me, he already escalated up the rungs of the social ladder.

Mr. Boothe is a very powerful man.

* * *

We met about two years ago. I had been frequently going to a local bar to drink away my problems, and, in that bar full of deadbeat drunks, I was on my way to join them in their misery. With a third shot of the hardest liquor the bartender had nearing my lips, he sat next to me and said: "You don't want that."

I laughed at him and drank it anyway, slurring a command to the barkeep for another.

He put some money on the counter and told the bartender to leave us alone.

"I don't want what you're selling," I told him flatly.

He chuckled, almost amused. "I'm not selling anything, James. I'm here to talk."

It caught me off guard. I had never met the man in my life but somehow he knew who I was. It was enough to keep me interested in continuing the conversation. "How do you know my name?" I asked.

"I know a lot more than you're name, James," he replied with a grin. "You're twenty-seven years old, live by yourself, and used to live in New York City before you came to Chicago. I also know that you have a gift, an ability unlike anything else you've seen before."

Only one other person knew about my ability, and I didn't quite believe he knew what he was talking about. "And what is this gift that I apparently have?" I asked casually.

"You have the unique ability to teleport anywhere you can think of."

"How do you know about that?" I said slowly.

He looked directly into my eyes. They were strong, powerful eyes that cut right through me. "James, how I know your name and about your gift is irrelevant. There are greater things about to happen that you should be more concerned about."

"Like what?"

"Amazing things. You, James, are _destined_ for amazing things. And I want to help you accomplish them."

I eyed him suspiciously. "What do you want in return?"

"What makes you think I want anything in return?"

"I've kept my ability a secret for a reason," I replied. "If the world found out about me, they would retaliate in fear and hunt me down."

"Yes," he nodded. "They would."

"I can only assume that you're blackmailing me with this information and you want something in return."

With a silent nod, he straightened his suit jacket and stood up, beckoning me to follow him outside. Grabbing my coat, I left the bar and met him at the corner of the street.

Slowly, I approached. "Why did you bring me out here?"

Without a response, he closed his eyes and opened his palms. "Look at the ground," he commanded. It vibrated slightly and, before I knew it, the entire block shook, as if a minor earthquake had passed through.

"What was that?" I whispered.

He took a deep breath, adjusting his jacket as he did. "That, James, is what _I_ can do."

I had never seen anything like it before. "How... how did you do that?"

"The same way you can travel anywhere in the world. With just a thought."

With the possibilities of that destructive display of power still racing through my head, I waited in anticipation for what he was going to say next. He looked out at the city block as residents stuck their heads out of windows and doors, turning off car alarms, attempting to recuperate from the shock.

"You're right, James. I do want something from you. If the world found out about people like us they wouldn't understand and they would respond violently. It's just human nature. But you can help me stop that from ever happening."

I was stunned. I didn't even respond, nor did he need me to.

"James, I want you to help me create a better world."

A better world. A noble cause. A hope for something better. I accepted his offer. It gave me a purpose and I wanted to feel like a hero again.

* * *

The parking garage is an empty casket left open for anyone to view. Old and scheduled for renovation, it's the place Mr. Boothe told me to drop off the boy. The moonlight falls across the painted lines like a much needed second coat, and a darkness overshadows me as another vehicle parks next to mine.

The boy looks at me as I lead him out of the back seat. His trembling hands reflect the feelings of terror in his glossy eyes. For a split second, I feel completely responsible for his situation, but I find a way to suppress it and look away.

"What happened, James?" the driver of the second car chuckles almost insultingly. "There's an FBI Team at the hospital investigating the kid's disappearance."

I shake my head. "I don't know, Cale. I messed up."

"They say the kidnapper disappeared into thin air, which obviously means they caught you in the act. Did you forget about his rule about not being seen using your abilities?"

"I messed up, Cale. Give it a rest."

"It was supposed to be simple. Get in, get out. No complications."

"I know."

"He's not going to be happy about this."

"I know."

"Man, you've never been this sloppy before."

"Well, I've never had to kidnap an _innocent_ boy before."

My last words hang loosely in the air before he shrugs and takes him out of my hands. "You weren't supposed to kidnap him in the first place."

I look down at my feet. "I know."

"Hopefully The Big Boss Man will be understanding," he says after he places him in the back seat.

Sometimes the worst feeling you can have about a situation is not about the situation at all, but about yourself and how you've acted within it. As he drives away, I catch a glimpse of the boy again. He looks just as frightened as he did when I looked at him through the rear view mirror and, suddenly, an entirely new question slips into my mind: _why do I feel so terribly_?

A glimpse of her face flashes past my eyes again.

Haley.

She's the reason why I have a knot in my stomach. She's the reason why I feel so badly about everything. If it had been any other time, any other person, I wouldn't feel like I do. I haven't seen her in a long time, but I still remember the promise I made to her all those years ago.

I told her I was going to _protect_ people, to _save_ people, that I was going to be a _hero_.

Look at me now: I'm kidnapping children for a cause that I'm losing faith in. I'm far from keeping my promise.

An idea slips into my mind like a warm ray of sunlight on a cold day. An idea that tells me to forget about creating a better world, forget about Mr. Boothe, forget about my responsibilities.

_Just leave,_ I think to myself.

With just a thought, I can disappear forever_._

But I don't. No matter how much I want to, I cannot bring myself to act upon it. I remain in the dilapidated parking structure because a memory invades my mind and rips the thought out:

It is two in a half years ago. Returning back from a three day, twelve hour shift with the ambulance, I enter into my apartment. The lights are off, which is odd because my wife, Alice, has a really bad habit of never turning off the lights when she leaves a room. Oddly, I do not think anything of it. After dropping my bag full of EMT equipment at the foot of the couch, I head over to my room. And that's where I see it. A letter on the bed. It's from my wife. It says that she is leaving me because I'm never there for her.

That I work too much.

That our problems will never go away.

That she doesn't love me anymore.

The memory reminds me of why I moved out of New York City, why I was in the bar the night Mr. Boothe recruited me, why I was trying to drink myself into a coma. I was a mess, heartbroken, depressed, suicidal.

The memory reminds me of why I do not leave now and why I've never left before. It's always the same. The pervasive question that continually strikes at me is: _where would I go?_

Honestly, I think about leaving a lot. I _want_ to leave but I never actually do it. As soon as the desire becomes strong, my mind immediately goes back to the time when he recruited me, back to the person who I was, the kind of life I was living. It reminds me that, even though I don't want to be here, I don't have anywhere else to go. I don't have _anybody_ to go to.

Without Mr. Boothe, I don't have a purpose in my life.

I think that's why seeing Haley again is affecting me. You see, she _also_ gave me a purpose.

Seeing her again reminds me of that purpose, but it's almost as if I let myself forget. What changed? Is it me? Is it Mr. Boothe?

Mr. Boothe says that he needs my help to create a better world, that I'm destined for amazing things.

_Amazing things_. Yeah, right. I haven't seen anything amazing yet. I haven't been a part of anything amazing. The opposite of amazing. I spent two years in his employ, doing his dirty work, helping him build a vast organization, and, not once, have I felt like a hero (You'd think making the world a better place would at least make me feel good about myself).

Looking out across the downtown Chicago skyline, I see the broken lights of a run down hospital and I realize where I want to go. I know I'm not going to leave it all behind but, as I walk away from the parking structure, a renewed sense of determination seeps down into my bones.

I am going to see Haley.

* * *

I enter into the Mercy Hospital & Medical Center through the front doors without anybody noticing me, but as I make my way around, it becomes very clear that The Police are still here. It does not stop me, however. I'm here to see Haley and that's what I'm going to do.

The knot in my stomach slowly unties and is replaced with a cold emptiness that I attribute to nervousness. I take a deep breath.

I don't know why I am so nervous.

Stealthily teleporting past the guards that seem to be at every major corridor, I make it to the fourth floor, the ICU. As soon as I appear on the other side of the double doors, she walks right into me.

It's almost as if fate wants me to find her.

"You!" she gasps.

I'm just as surprised as she is. "Haley!"

Realizing where we are, I cover her mouth, moving us behind a corner, out of view from anybody who might walk by. "Shh! Don't scream," I whisper quietly, hoping it will stop _my_ heart from beating so hard.

With a slightly annoyed roll of her eyes, she muffles something.

"What did you say?" I mutter softly.

Pushing my hand away, Haley gives me an oddly amused smile. "I said: 'I'm not going to scream'."

I have no idea why she's smiling, but somehow it disables me.

Cautiously Haley peers behind the corner. She takes my hand and leads me towards a patient's room when, suddenly, a respiratory therapist walks out. Surprised, she forces me into a nearest supply closet, closing the door behind her.

The closet is small, packed with various boxes labeled with words I can hardly pronounce, but Haley is inches away from my nose. I look into her eyes, her strikingly green eyes, and, even though I want to say something, my lips don't move.

I can't believe it's her.

She chuckles. "What are you staring at?"

Quickly, I turn my attention to a small box of syringes behind her head and grab it. "Oh, here are the syringes I was looking for," I say with a sense of nonchalance. "They're, uh, really hard to find sometimes."

She nods her head, playing along. "Oh, you have no idea. Sometimes I just need to _stare_ at something for a while before I can find them."

I cannot help but chuckle timidly, but I fight the urge to look into her eyes again, choosing to bring my attention to the box in my hand.

Haley continues to look at me though, forcing me to glance up and bring my eyes back to hers. We both smile in the lingering silence.

Coolly, she puts her hands into her coat pockets and glances through the skinny window in the door. "The FBI are looking for you," she says very normally.

I look back down to the label on the box, but I reply anyway. "I know, I just... I just needed to see you."

"Here, put my white coat on."

I am surprised, but I take it into my hands. "What am I going to do with this?"

"People use this supply closet all the time." She opens the door and beckons me to follow her. "Just do what I say and don't say anything."

I grin. "You're the boss."

Quietly, we sneak out of the supply closet and into an empty patient's room. Taking a second glance to make sure nobody sees us, she closes the door. I take a deep breath in the lingering silence, reminding me of the emptiness in my stomach. It has been so long since I've seen her. She's probably changed so much. I don't even know what to say.

Haley could be the anchor to the life that I want back, but, then again, she may not.

I still can't believe it's her.

She looks at me like someone who is trying to solve a puzzle. "I can't believe it's really you," she snickers.

"I was just thinking the same thing," I reply.

And just like that, the empty feeling leaves completely. It's funny how you can go years without seeing someone, but as soon as you do, it's as if only a day has passed.

Her finger moves a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's really good to see you, Quistin."

"Wow, I haven't heard that name in forever," I say. "I can't believe you remember that."

She just chuckles. "How could I forget?"

"I don't even remember why I told you to call me that. It was the stupidest nickname in the world."

"Oh, it still is," she shoots back.

I pretend to look at her crossly.

She puts her hands on her hips, shrugging coyly with a sheepish grin thrown in for good effect. "Well, you should've chosen a better name to use."

It's so strange how it's as if nothing has changed. Haley's words fall seamlessly into the conversation like we're picking up right off where we left off. The playfulness in her voice brings me back to when we were teenagers. It reminds me of the type of person that I was, the type of person that I want to be again.

"True," I nod my head in agreement. "I was such a stupid kid back then."

"Yeah, Quistin, we both were."

I miss those days. The days when we were innocent kids with stupid nicknames, with nothing to worry about but the next stupid game we wanted to play, the next restaurant to go for lunch, or the next city we wanted to visit.

Remembering how we used to be makes me feel guilty for who I am now.

My smile disappears, grounding me back in the moment. "Please, don't call me that."

"Why?" she asks with a hint of concern.

I look away. "It just... it reminds of the person I used to be." I sigh out of frustration. "I'm different now."

Haley nods her head. "Okay."

I know she understands completely (If I can be honest with anybody, it is with Haley). I know that I never have to be afraid to say anything to her.

And now I know what I want to say. "It's really good seeing you again."

She walks closer, a comforting smile on her lips. She places her hand upon mine. "It's really good to see you too."

I take another deep breath. She's happy to see me too.

"James," she says softly, a serious tone on her tongue. "What are you doing here?"

The only answer I can come up with is the most obvious. "I wanted to see you."

"No," she shakes her head. "That's not what I'm talking about. Why were you here the first time? Why did you kidnapped Jacob?"

"Who?"

"The boy you kidnapped. That was his name."

"Oh," I say weakly. Knowing his name makes me feel worse, and it doesn't help me take it back. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

She folds her arms and leans against the empty patient's bed. "I told the FBI that you would never do something like that willingly." Haley looks at me with those delicate green eyes, waiting for me to reply.

I can only hang my head. "I really wish you hadn't."

"I believe what I said to them, James," she says with more conviction. "Why did you do it?"

She asks all of the right questions that I cannot bring myself to answer. I want to tell her everything that has happened to me. I want to tell her how badly I feel about it. But, for some reason, I don't. "It's... complicated."

Once again, her hand presses gently against mine. "Then explain it to me slowly."

"I don't even know where to begin."

"How about from the start?"

A simple smile from Haley somehow makes it easier to breath, to think clearly, to do what I need to do.

Before I can open my mouth, the door opens and a woman in a dark blazer walks in. "Haley, are you in here?"

Surprised from the sudden intrusion, Haley quickly spins around and faces her. "Oh! Hi, Sarah!"

My body tenses up, ready for anything.

The woman points her finger accusingly towards me. "You!"

Every instinct in my body tells me to run. I know with just a thought I can teleport to safety but I hold back. Something in the way Haley looks at me keeps me grounded in the room.

It's as if she sees the person that I used to be. She sees the person who could never kidnap somebody without a reason, the person who would never run away like a coward. Haley's eyes plead with me to stay because she still believes in the me that she used to know.

The woman pulls out her handcuffs and clips them around my wrists, reciting my Miranda Rights as she does. I look at Haley, expecting to see resentment or perhaps disappointment on her face. It only makes sense since I hate myself, I am disappointed in myself. I haven't accomplished anything worthy of praise. I'm a criminal, a kidnapper, a failure.

But Haley shows hope. She shows me reassurance. She lets me know that I made the right decision and that everything will work out in the end.

* * *

Their names are Agent Lara and Agent White of the FBI. Agent Lara, obviously the one in charge, is much more consistent with her body language. She's a little bit more calm and reserved, keeping her emotions under control. It is a stark contrast to her partner, Agent White. She's much more volatile. With every comment she says, she shows me a hint of her personality. Desperate. Inexperienced.

The interrogation is not going well for them.

"Where is Jacob?"

"I don't know," I reply flatly.

"Who are you working for?"

"I'm sorry but I can't tell you."

Agent White looks at me with so much frustration. She stands up in a huff, placing her hands on her hips.

"You're gonna have to give me something better than that," Agent Lara calmly states. "Your fingerprints are all over the morgue. If you don't give us something to work with, things may get very unpleasant for you."

"I'm sorry," I say again. "I can't tell you."

Agent White slams her fist on the table. "You piece of sh-"

"Sarah! That is enough!" Agent Lara barks. "Get out. You need to cool off."

She looks at me one last time and huffs in frustration before leaving the room. Agent Lara sighs and rubs her eyes. I know she's just as skeptical and frustrated about my responses, but I fight the urge to say anything more.

Everything I felt in the patient's room suddenly falls on my shoulders. I become heavy and ashamed of my actions. How am I supposed to be the hero if I don't cooperate with the interrogation? How can I make Haley understand me if I do?

I can't do both... not yet.

"If you're not going to talk here," Agent Lara says very sternly, "maybe you'll talk back at Headquarters."

She opens the door, nods to two armed guards and they take me out of the room.

Haley stands just outside the door. She says my name as I walk past her. I catch a glimpse of her smile.

A simple smile from Haley somehow makes it easier to breath, to think clearly, to do the right thing.

I will cooperate with their investigation, but there is something else I need to do first.

They lead me out of the hospital and into a large transport vehicle. When the doors close, I close my eyes and teleport away.


	7. You can trust me, kid, I'm a good guy

**JACOB**

The lights of the tunnel pass overhead like the watchful eyes of a monster. A low howl from the engine echoes off the walls like the growl of a predator and I become more and more terrified as we approach the exit, closer to the unknown. I don't know where he's taking me, but, if television has taught me anything, I probably don't want to know.

I don't know why, but it freaks me out when I don't know what is happening around me. Not knowing what's about to happen is so uncomfortable.

Here are some facts that I do know: I have been kidnapped. I am a prisoner. As far as I'm concerned, there is no savior to my rescue. As we exit, there's just more road, and I feel helpless to do anything about it. I sit quietly in the back of the car, keeping my eyes on the driver. I hold my breath and try to keep calm because there's only one thought in my head. _He's going to kill me_.

My captor hasn't spoken since the exchange at the parking garage. He hasn't even looked at me. The first guy wouldn't _stop_ looking at me. He was a lot more jittery.

The duct tape on my mouth has loosened slightly by my tears, but it leaves a sour taste on my lips. I want to tear it off but I'm afraid what he will do to me if I do. I was afraid of the first guy too, but the first guy was like a freak of nature. I don't know how he took me from the morgue to the hospital alley in the blink of an eye, but if he could do something as crazy as that, who knows what else he can do.

I'm just as frightened about my new captor. I don't know what he wants with me. I don't know what he's capable of.

"Please don't kill me," I whisper. "Please don't kill me."

He glances at me in the rear view mirror. "You can take off the tape if you want," he says calmly.

Surprised, I look away from him. I don't know what to do. It is the first time he's spoken, and he decides to say something like that? Is he trying to be nice to me? Is he trying to calm me down?

He shrugs when I remain motionless. "Or you can leave it on."

Slowly, I reach up to my mouth and finger at the edges of the tape while I keep a cautious eye on his reaction. When I finally rip it off, he looks back at me and smiles again (it still doesn't make me feel any better about my situation).

I crumple the tape in my hand, but it is difficult since my wrists are tied up. I don't know where to put it so I just hold it in my hands.

"Are you hungry?" he asks suddenly.

I'm surprised by his question. It doesn't seem like something a kidnapper should ask. Why is he acting so nicely?

"You must be starving."

I remain silent. How am I supposed to respond to that? Yes, I'm completely starving but that's not something I'd tell him.

He turns his head and looks at me briefly before looking back at the road. "I'm sorry you had to be tied up like that," he says with a gesture of his hand. "James is an idiot."

He's really starting to freak me out now. I've seen a lot of movies and this is not how the captors act. No matter how nice he appears, though, I can only imagine all of the terrible things he will do to me. Is he trying to be my friend? Is he trying to gain my trust before he kills me?

I still don't know why he kidnapped me in the first place. Now I am both terrified _and_ confused.

The car suddenly pulls over to the side of the road. It happens so quickly, I have to use my hands to stop myself from hitting the chair in front of me. Cautiously, I watch as he turns off the engine and steps out of the car.

_This is it_, I think. _This is the moment he's going to kill me_.

I hold my breath and wait for the inevitable.

He walks to the trunk, opens it, and takes something out. I fight the urge to see what he has, but my curiosity gets the better of me. As he opens the door, the moonlight reflects the shiny blade of a knife.

I let out a yelp that would have embarrassed me if my life wasn't on the line. "Oh God!" I scream. "Don't kill me!"

He just chuckles and takes my hands.

An overwhelming sense of self-preservation overtakes me. I never knew how badly I want to live. With as much ferocity as I have, I try to kick him away.

"Hold on, Kid," he demands. "Hold still."

"Help! Somebody help me!" I yell at the top of my lungs. With death seconds away, the barrier behind my inhibitions releases everything I hold in. "I don't want to die! Why did you kidnap me? Why are you trying to kill me? Help-"

Suddenly, the whole world goes in slow motion.

Everything just slows down. My body delays like I'm fighting underwater. It's as if my mind is at normal speed, but my body isn't. I can't explain it fully but everything slows down except for him.

Without me to kick him him away, he easily reaches for my hands and cuts the ties around my wrists.

And just as quickly as it started, the world snaps back to normal.

_What just happened?_

I look around, not sure if I imagined it.

"I'm not trying to kill you, Kid," he says with a laugh as he leaves to put the knife back in the trunk. "I'm a good guy."

His words hit me like a brick wall. Of all the crazy things he says to me, 'I'm a good guy' must be the craziest. Still, if he's willing to untie me, he can't be all bad, can he?

I look down at the crumpled piece of tape still in my hands. As I put it down beside me, the two halves of rope from my wrists catch my eye. Gingerly, I pick them up.

In many ways, the rope is like today: in pieces.

Hours ago, I ran away from my parents because they were getting a divorce. And now they're dead and I've been kidnapped. I'm in a car going who knows where. How can so many awful things happen so quickly? I'm lost, alone, and, although I don't want to admit it, I'm still scared. I have no idea what's happening and I have no idea what's _going_ to happen.

I wish Amber was here. She always listens to me when I'm afraid. She makes me feel like I matter, like I'm actually important to someone else. She'd probably give me some great words of wisdom and tell me that I'm acting like a baby for being so scared. Amber can definitely make me feel better about myself in any situation.

The trunk door closes and he steps into the car. "What's your name, Kid?" he asks suddenly, bringing me out of my thoughts.

He looks at me through the rear view mirror. I look at him but I don't say anything back.

He turns around and faces me. "Here. I'll go first. I'm Cale."

I shake my head.

"You don't have to be afraid," he says. "You can trust me, Kid. I'm a good guy."

"What does that mean?" I let slip out. Quickly, I cover my mouth. I didn't mean to say anything at all.

He chuckles. "It means that you're not a prisoner. It means that you're not here against your will."

I take a deep breath, confused but slightly relieved. Still, I can't take his word for it. It seems too good to be true. "So I can leave whenever I want?"

He cringes slightly. "Well, not exactly."

"But you said I'm not a prisoner."

"You're not," he says very normally.

"Then you can't stop me if I escape."

He chuckles. "I never said that."

I reach for the door handle. My hand hovers just above it. "If I'm not a prisoner, then what am I?"

"You're a guest," he responds. "After you meet my boss, you can decide wherever you want to go."

A guest? That's strange. My hand drops away from the door. Curiosity gets the best of me and compels me to ask more questions. "Who is your boss?"

"His name is Mr. Boothe."

"Who is that?"

"All you need to know is that he's a very powerful man who has a lot of influence in the world."

I scratch the back of my head, trying to understand everything. "Why does he want to meet me?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "You must be special."

"Special?"

Nodding his head, he readjusts himself in the chair. "Yes. Like me. Or James." He looks deeply into my eyes and grins. "You must have an ability too."

Being special? Having abilities? What is he talking about? Everything he says doesn't make any sense. I'm not a prisoner but I can't leave? I must be special like him or James?

I think back to when I was kidnapped. It's obvious that the man who took me wasn't normal. Is it possible that Cale is telling the truth?

"Was James the one who kidnapped me?" I ask.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Cale says with an apologetic nod. He shrugs like he doesn't quite know the answer to my question even though he's already answered it. "He's been acting weird lately. He wasn't supposed to kidnap you like that."

I think to the moment I was taken from the morgue again, the moment when we disappeared and reappeared in a matter of seconds. The strange rush of adrenaline and then the sudden feeling of exhaustion afterward. It happened so quickly, I wasn't even sure if it really happened at all. "He... he did something... and we were in the alley behind the hospital," I say out loud.

Cale confirms with a nod. "That's his special ability. He can teleport."

"Teleport," I whisper to myself. I look at Cale curiously. "What can _you_ do?"

"I can alter time relative to myself."

I stare at him blankly.

He grins. "In other words: I can make time around me go slower or faster."

"You used it on me, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," he replies. "It was the only way I could untie you without accidentally hurting you. You've got quite a kick."

I chuckle slightly but it does not take my mind off of my curiosity. Everything he's saying seems too amazing to be true. It seems impossible for people to do the things he describes, but I _did_ teleport out of the morgue and I _did _experience the weird slow motion thing. It's possible that what he's saying about _me_ is true.

Am I really special? I've _never_ been special, not in my entire life. I've never even _felt_ special before.

I look at him and clear my throat. "Do you know what _I_ can do?"

"Are you asking about _your_ special ability?"

I nod my head.

He shrugs. "I don't know to tell you the truth. Mr. Boothe just tells us to recruit people with abilities and we get them for him."

"Oh, okay," I say with only a nod of my head. It isn't a very satisfying answer.

I look at the handle to the door again. What he's telling me is crazy. I don't know why I even partially believe it. I can run away and get help. I can escape.

"You know I can't let you go yet," he says. He sees me looking at the door handle. He knows what I'm thinking. "And even if you run, you're not gonna get very far."

He's right, but I have to try, don't I?

"You still want to escape even after everything I've told you?"

"Can you blame me?"

Cale chuckles with a smirk. He just shrugs his shoulders and leans back. "Well, you can come with me or I can _make_ you come with me. It's your choice."

I look back to the door handle.

"But aren't you at least curious enough to know _why_ Mr. Boothe wants to see you?"

He's right. I want to why he wants to meet me, but there doesn't seem to be any reason why he would. I'm just a kid. I'm not rich. I'm not important. If I were special, wouldn't I know it? Wouldn't I feel like it?

"Hey, Kid," he says, bringing me out of my thoughts.

I look up at him.

"Do you know why he told James to pick you up at the hospital and not at Willis Tower?"

I shake my head.

"He knew that Willis Tower was going to be hit by the earthquake. He knew that your parents were going to die today." He paused and leaned in closer. "That's why he told James to meet you in the morgue."

"How could he know that?"

Cale smiles and turns on the engine. "Why don't you ask him when you meet him tomorrow."

I remain silent, digesting all of the information. A lot of my questions are answered, but despite them, there are so many more I have, probably as many as I had when I was in the tunnel. Except, instead of being scared of the answers, I'm excited about them.

Who is Mr. Boothe?

What does he want with me?

What special ability do I have?

Whatever the answers are, there's one thing that is true: he wants to see _me._ For some reason, I am special enough to be seen. That's more attention than my parents ever gave me.

"Hey, Kid," Cale calls back to me. "You never said if you were hungry or not."

I chuckle. "Actually, I'm starving."

"Good," he says with a grin. "So am I."

"And it's Jacob."

"What?" he asks without taking his eyes off of the road.

"My name," I say. "It's Jacob."


	8. Amber, not now

**AMBER**

Love is so overrated. It has to be the stupidest concept in the world. It's kid stuff. It's as fake as the monsters under your bed or the Tooth Fairy.

It's irritating how the entire world is drugged up on it too. They say that there is _only one_ person out there worth being with forever, that there is only one way to defeat loneliness: find true love. And when you can't find it, or if you lose it, there's something wrong with you.

What's worse is that romantic films and love songs perpetuate the idea. People keep believing it, and the idea just keeps going around until, finally, someone gets hurt...

Alright, I'll give.

His name was Dillon. We met in my freshman year of High School.

* * *

My father once told me that a person's bedroom is a safe haven from the rest of the world. Decorated with an assortment of posters, pictures, colors and sports memorabilia, it shows the personality of its owner. It is a place to escape to when your identity seems lost or when you want to remember who you are.

Well, _my _bedroom is not my safe haven... not anymore. It is not a reflection of who I am or how I view myself. It is only the place where I sleep. That's it.

Ironically, I can't even do that right now.

The darkness in the room is highlighted only by the haunting glow of the moonlight. I cannot sleep. There is too much on my mind, but I am in my bedroom because I have nowhere else to go; I hate every other room in the house (Actually, calling it a house would be sort of an understatement).

It is like any other rich person's house: multiple stories, way too many bedrooms, a balcony, a pool. Basically, its architecture was extravagantly planned out to tell the rest of the world: "Look at us! We're better off than you are!"

It makes me sick.

The house I _used_ to live in was small, but not too small. It was quaint, but it wasn't old. It was home to me, a place where I _wanted_ to go back to when I was away for a long time.

Sadly, we moved out of it as soon as my mom remarried. My step-father's first act as head of the household was to give us a _better place to live_. My mother loved it, but I wasn't impressed. He took us out of _our_ home and put us into _his_ house. To me, it's just expensive wood and bricks, nothing more.

That's why my room only serves as a place to sleep. My step-father made it an object. It isn't a part of me, it doesn't deserve my identity.

As I lay in my bed, my eyes float to every corner in the room. I can't help but dissect every inch of it and make a mental list of all the things I hate about it. As you can imagine, the list is pretty extensive. I _hate_ this house. I _hate_ this room.

If I would've said that to my mom she'd probably just laugh and ask me what else I hate.

God, I wish my mom was here.

She is the best listener. I can tell her whatever I want. She lets me say the most horrible thoughts out loud and never blames me for thinking them. She's the only part of my life that I truly love.

Although she married the biggest jerk in the world, I can't hate her for dealing with my father's death the only way she knew how. My father meant as much to her as he meant to me. And she constantly reminded me that she will never forget him, that no one will replace him in her heart.

But now she's gone. And I'm left with my step-father, the reminder that my mother is no longer alive.

No. I can't think about her right now. I need to think about something else.

I know I am only looking for a way to distract myself from dealing with her death, but I do it anyway. Distracting myself is a lot easier than dealing with the truth. It hurts less. The less I think about it, the easier it is to breathe. Somewhere in the back of my mind, though, I know that I'm going to fall apart if I let it overwhelm me. I know I will because every time I think about her, my heart breaks a little more.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

I have to push through it. I _have _to.

If there's a will, there's a way.

* * *

The only thing I can honestly say about him is that he wasn't anything special. Well, I guess that's how all of these stories start out.

Dillon was your average ordinary teenager: tall and full of angst, with a hard outer shell a cannon ball couldn't even penetrate. He had a guitar that he carried everywhere; the cliche, independent rocker of the school with an attitude as sharp as a knife. He always ate underneath the farthest tree near the corner of the west side of the lunch yard and he sat on the highest bench on the bleachers when school ended. I always saw him playing there, nothing but the faint chatter of practicing athletes as his audience.

No one really knew who he was, no one really cared. I bet you can already guess what happened next.

The first memory I have of Dillon was during the second week of school. I think it was a Tuesday. He came into my geometry class trailing behind the principle like a convict who had too many run-ins with the law. By the way he looked at us when he entered, it was obvious that he did not want to be there.

After the principle explained that he had just moved to our school, he was briefly introduced and assigned a seat, which happened to be the empty one next to the teacher's desk.

He sat down and placed his guitar on the top of his desk, gently tapping his fingers against the wood as if it were a drum. Mr. Green, my geometry teacher, told him to get out a piece of paper and follow along, so he took out a marker from his back pocket and started writing on the bottom of his guitar.

Mr. Green irately walked over to his desk. "Please take out a piece of paper," he said again, a little bit more forcefully.

"I don't have any paper," Dillon said passively without looking up.

"Then borrow it from a neighbor," Mr. Green replied harshly as he ripped the guitar away from him and placed it behind his desk, near the classroom printer.

Dillon looked really irritated when he stood up. The classroom was silent for a whole minute as we watched them glare at each other.

Mr. Green threatened to send him to the principle's office if he retrieved the guitar back and Dillon determinedly walked behind Mr. Green's desk without responding. And just when it looked like he was about to grab the guitar, he reached out and took a few sheets of paper out of the printer.

"I'm going to borrow some of _your_ paper if it's alright with you, _Neighbor_," he said with a smug smile.

The class' giggles were silenced with Mr. Green's cold scowl. With the same arrogant grin on his face, he sat down and humorously gestured for Mr. Green to continue his lesson.

Mr. Green ended up sending him to the principle's office anyway.

I have to admit, I was intrigued and a little bit impressed when he walked out of class that day. If all he wanted to do was leave, he definitely got his wish. And right before the door closed, he did something that intrigued me even more. He bowed as if it was all a performance.

Funnily enough, I was the only one who saw him do it.

* * *

I open my eyes and immediately look at the clock. It's nearing four o' clock. My phone sits quietly on my night stand and I check it as well. I need to know if I was dreaming, that everything about yesterday was just a horrible nightmare, that it never happened.

But it's a day later. It did happen. And the rush of emotions that follows hits me like a giant boulder.

My head sinks deeper into the weight of my pillow. A single thought of my mom and I am overwhelmed, an overbearing feeling of distress presses on my chest. Every memory brings me back to yesterday and it feels like someone is ripping open my rib cage one rib at a time.

This never would have happened if I wasn't at the hospital. The only reason why I was at the hospital was because Sarah and I brought Jacob there. We never would have brought him to the hospital if we weren't hit with an earthquake when we got trapped in the closet. And I wouldn't have been stuck in the closet with Jacob if I wasn't at Willis Tower in the first place.

But we wouldn't have gone to Willis Tower if I hadn't forced my mom to take me there because I was angry with my step-father.

The blame of her death falls upon my shoulders. And it makes the pain hurt even more.

_This is all your fault!_ I berate myself.

_She's dead because of you! _

_You are worthless. _

_You are stupid. _

_You are a horrible daughter._

It's almost as if I hear my step-father's voice in my head.

Suddenly, through all of the painful memories and unbearable emotions, Haley's words to me at the hospital scream louder in my head than my thoughts do.

_"Jacob needs you right now. He needs someone who can comfort him. His parents are dead, Amber. Help him."_

I say it to myself once more.

_Jacob needs you right now._

I allow the words to repeat over and over. The more I say it, the more it takes my self-deprivation away and focuses my attention towards Jacob. The thought of him takes all of the anger and replaces it with feelings of hope. A hope that, even if I'm miserable, I can at least comfort him, be there for him, because I know exactly how he feels.

He's out there somewhere, scared, alone, and dealing with the same emotions that I am. I can help him, just like I did at Willis Tower.

I can be his hero.

But Sarah told me _not_ to be a hero. She told me to go home, to leave the investigation to her. Look where it's gotten me. I'm miserable because I listened to her.

Haley told me to be Jacob's hero. Sarah told me not to be.

Sarah. What does _she_ know? When has being a hero ever hurt me?

* * *

From a spectator's viewpoint he seemed like a punk, a bad influence, someone who could never have my best interests at heart. I've heard it all. My step-father once asked how a boy like him could be with a girl like me. He didn't approve of our relationship. He didn't like Dillon. He didn't understand him like I did.

Good thing Dillon wasn't the type of person who cared what other people thought of him.

He was amazing. I remember the first time he talked to me, the first time he looked in my direction during class, the first time I sat next to him during lunch. Every time I was around him, I felt light headed. Every time he said my name, my heart skipped a beat.

I remember the first time he kissed me. The first time he told me he loved me. He always made me feel good about myself. He always made me feel needed.

Nobody else saw him the way I did. Nobody.

Of course, he wasn't perfect. He made mistakes, we argued a lot. Admittedly, I second guessed our relationship a few times but I knew he was just misunderstood. His behavior was unpredictable and frustrating, but his life had been hard. And despite that fact, he got through it.

_If there's a will, there's a way_ he used to tell me.

His behavior was just _his way_ of dealing with everything he had been through. I was the only one who understood that.

Even though I was immediately fascinated with him, the initial attraction wasn't what made him special to me. Dillon was special because he needed _me_. He was broken and I was the one who could fix him.

I think that's what hurt the most when he left me.

* * *

The sounds of an argument reaches my ears. It surprises me because the only other person home is my step-father. Who would visit him so early in the morning, let alone argue with him? (My step-father isn't really the type of person you argue with. Obviously I do but that's just because I hate him).

Curiosity gets the better of me and I decide to listen in on the rest of the conversation. Slowly, I creep towards his office on my hands and knees and eavesdrop through the slightly open double doors.

"I'm done!" the visitor shouts.

My step-father's voice is low and calculated. "What do you mean 'you're done'?"

"I mean that I'm finished working for you."

He sighs. "And what made you decide this?"

"I've been thinking about it for a long time."

"I see."

"You're a liar," he whispers coldly. The visitor noisily shuffles his feet. He's agitated about something.

"A liar?" My step-father's voice becomes more defensive.

"And I don't want to help you anymore."

"How am I a liar?" He asks more like a statement.

"I haven't seen anything amazing yet!" The visitor yells back. "You said that I was destined for amazing things!"

"You lack so much vision."

This time the visitor gets defensive. I look through the narrow crack between the doors and see him lean on my step-father's desk, matching his powerful gaze. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" he says through his teeth.

"You think just because nothing amazing has happened to you, nothing ever will."

The visitor chuckles regretfully and hangs his head. "I believed you this entire time."

"And you won't be disappointed," my step-father responds. "You _are_ destined for greatness. You just have to be patient."

"Patient?" he slams his fist onto the top of the desk. "Damn it, I'm tired of waiting for this 'better world' you keep speaking of! Everything I've ever done for you has been for your own selfish purposes!"

"You don't understand. Everything is happening for a reason."

"I'm leaving, Boothe," he responds. "And you can't stop me."

My step-father's voice becomes menacing. I've never heard him sound like it before. "Nobody leaves, James. You know that."

"Well, I guess there's a first time for everything," he replies.

Without turning back, the visitor walks towards the door. Through my small vantage point, I see his face.

There is something familiar about him. I try to place him, but the memory alludes me. Suddenly, I become aware that he is walking straight towards me. As quickly as I can, I tumble away from the door and hide behind the corner.

When he leaves my step-father's office, I see him one more time. And I realize why he looks so familiar.

He's the guy who took Jacob. The guy who disappeared into thin air.

As he walks out the front door, something overtakes my body and compels me to enter into my step-father's office. I can't think of anything else except the fact that the person who kidnapped Jacob was two feet in front of me and my step-father knows who he is.

"Who was that?" I demand, throwing open the office doors.

He turns around and faces me. He sighs in irritation. "Amber, not now."

"No, who was that?"

He massages the bridge of his nose. "It's none of your business."

"I need to know who that was."

He sighs again. "I don't have time to deal with your insignificant problems, Amber."

"My problems _are not_ insignificant-"

"Amber!" he cuts me off. I hate it when he does that. "I received a call from the hospital last night informing me that my wife is dead. Whatever you have to say can wait."

How dare he mention her. "She's my mother too, you son of a b-."

"Amber!" he interrupts me again. "I don't care."

My mind races for a response so I can hurt him as much as he hurts me, but I can't think of anything to say back.

"I didn't want you when I married her and I don't want you here with me now."

I clench my fist. I want to punch him so badly.

"So get out of my office and leave me alone."

My step-father has piercing eyes, the kind of eyes that can inspire or terrify you depending on who's side you're on. I've only experienced the latter. And, right now, his gaze cuts right through me. Even though I don't want him to win this argument, I have nothing else to say. Defeated, I turn around and leave.

"Wait..."

I stop. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Forget it."

He's not going to tell me what I want to know. I'm going to have to find out for myself.

* * *

There was no way I could have seen it coming. Dillon dropped out of High School at the end of freshman year and disappeared forever, without a word to me or anybody else, not even his foster parents.

I was devastated.

I didn't know why he did it. I didn't know why he didn't tell me anything. It was as if he just disappeared into thin air. I didn't even get a chance to stop him, to talk him out of it. I didn't get a chance to say good-bye.

He left me with so many unanswered questions. Did he leave because of me? Did he leave because of my step-father? Did our relationship mean anything to him? Was everything he told me a lie?

None of it made sense.

He was the first person I ever loved. And I don't even know if he loved me back.

It took a long time to get over him, but I managed to do it.

_If there's a will, there's a way._

_

* * *

_

He stands in the gravel driveway a few feet away from the front door. For someone who stormed out of my step-father's office the way he did, he didn't seem to get very far. He holds his cell phone and stares at it, as if he's debating whether or not he should call someone. At least twice, he puts it away and pulls it back out, unsure of what he wants to do.

I guess that's one thing we have in common. I, too, do not have a plan. I have no idea what I'm doing. But Haley's words come to mind once again and gives me the courage to do whatever is necessary to find out where Jacob is.

_Jacob needs you right now._

As quietly as I can, I open the front door. If I close it, he'll hear me and vanish forever. If I step on the gravel with my shoes on, he'll still hear me and disappear. I don't know how he does it, but I can't have him disappearing on me before I even get to him. I have to remember to take off my shoes and leave the door open.

Now I need to find a way to knock him out. I really wish I owned a bat. If I punch him in the back of the head, he will just turn around, kick me, and then disappear again. He definitely likes to run away.

I need something that will knock him out with one hit.

There is a small boulder in the garden to the right of the front door. It's light enough for me to carry but heavy enough that I have to try really hard to lift it over my head. I wonder if that will knock him out.

I guess there's only one way to find out.


	9. Sarah, what is he talking about?

**SARAH**

I stand quietly beside Anne as she takes a sip from her water bottle. _This is ridiculous_, I think to myself. _What is taking so long?_ I'm frustrated because the transport should've been here by now. You probably couldn't tell by looking at me, but I'm so irritated right now.

I guess, for the most part, I've calmed down, but Anne knows me too well.

After a refreshed sigh, she offers some to me. I shake my head and look back at the door. "Where are they? Did something happen?"

"You're always so jittery, Rook," she replies casually. "Try to relax a little bit."

"You relax," I say under my breath.

She just chuckles. "He was locked in a titanium shielded truck. He's not going anywhere. James will be here when he gets here. Calm down."

"I am calm!"

"Sure you are."

Before I can respond to her sarcastic sleight, an officer calls out her name as he bursts through the double doors.

She looks at me curiously before walking towards him. "What's the problem?"

"James escaped!"

"What?" We both say in unison.

Immediately, I run outside and to the back of the transport. The officer who is in charge of guarding him opens the doors to refute any doubt to his words. I walk inside to see an empty bench. No sign of an escape. Everything is exactly as it should be except our suspect is missing.

I spin around and face the officer. Narrowing my eyes, I take a few menacing steps towards him. "Where the hell is he?"

He glances at me briefly but looks away when he can't match my glare. "I don't know, Ma'am," he stammers nervously, still holding on to the door handle. "No one came in or out."

Anne sighs loudly behind him, rubbing the frustration out of her eyes. I'd probably do the same thing if I wasn't so angry.

"I can't believe this!" I growl. "Where is he? It's not like he disappeared into thin air!"

Anne gives me a look. "Like it never happened before?"

Annoyed, I just give her a look back. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah. It means we have our very own Houdini on our hands," she responds. "How far do you think he got?"

"It's impossible to just disappear like that," I say, more to convince myself. "He couldn't have gotten very far."

"You think he had help?"

"He had to."

Anne nods her head in agreement. Turning back to Headquarters, she storms up the steps.

I follow closely behind her. "Where are you going?"

She grabs her gun and holsters it. "I'm gonna take a team and see if we can track him down."

"Take me with you."

"Sorry, Rook, not this time," she says, brushing past me. "There's an analyst coming by to give us some information on our suspects. You need to be here when it comes."

I can only grunt in reply.

"Let me know as soon as you find anything," she calls out as the doors close.

And then she is gone.

The officer looks at me in a silent stupor after she leaves.

"What are you looking at?" I spit.

He shakes his head and leaves, closing the door behind him.

_He's an idiot, _I think. _If he had done his job, James would still be here._

A frustrated sigh escapes from my mouth. I look around the room and collapse into the nearest chair. It's one of the most uncomfortable chairs I've ever sat in but, right now, I could care less.

I'm so exhausted. I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours. And it's been a _long_ twenty-four hours. The earthquake, the kidnapping, arresting James. It's only three o'clock in the morning and I've had enough crazy to last me a lifetime. And it's _still_ not over.

With every exhale I let out, I remind myself that I have a job to do. This is what I live for. Anne put me on the case and I have a part in it, no matter how small it is (I still think I _deserve_ a bigger role). But now that James is missing, Anne is going to have her hands full trying to find him while I sit back and wait.

It almost seems useless to even be here.

Still, she told me to stay, so I guess that's what I'm going to do. Follow orders.

* * *

Obedience is an interesting quality. There seems to be an honorable connotation attributed to it. I mean, everyone is supposed to be obedient to someone else, right? Still, it's one of the hardest things to actually do. We're taught to obey our bosses, the law, or even our parents, but there's always something in the back of our minds that tell us to do the opposite.

I guess, it's just something that we all have to live with. There are repercussions for disobedience. If you don't obey your boss, you're fired. If you don't obey the law, you're thrown in jail. If you don't obey your parents... well, that's a whole different story.

I was taught to _always_ obey authority, no matter where it came from. It's a matter respect and dignity. We obey those who are higher than us.

The problem remains, though. Sometimes I don't want to.

* * *

The analyst comes right on time. She is a tall lanky woman with glasses that never seem to stay on the bridge of her nose. She constantly has to move them back up. Something about the way she's dressed reminds me of an old librarian. By the way she looks at me, I think she might know what I'm thinking.

People like her are annoying. Analysts are all the same. They always think they know everything and have a harsh, condescending way of speaking. Having analysts around is probably like talking to a therapist. It's completely unnecessary.

"Here are the files Agent Lara requested," she says in the worse monotone voice ever.

"Thank you," I respond. "Don't forget to close the door on your way out."

She looks at me, slightly offended. "My job isn't over, Miss White." There is a hint of malice when she says my last name. Slowly, she moves to the door, closes it, and walks back to me. "I am also here to _analyze_ them with you until she gets back."

I just nod my head, holding back an insult. "Well, then, we'd better get crackin' on this."

"This isn't some chore, Miss White," she says with an icy glare.

"It's _Agent_ White," I respond with one of my own.

She just looks at me silently before pointing at the files. "Let's just focus on the task at hand... _Miss_ White."

I clench my jaw. She's really getting on my nerves. Swiping the files out of her hands, I separate them into halves and give her half to look over. She lifts her nose a little bit higher than mine when we sit down.

"Tool!" I say with an obvious cough to cover it up.

She looks up and adjusts her glasses, but decides not to say anything back.

Analyzing information is a slow and delicate process. You have to be very careful to look at the details, to find the connections, and see how they fit within the bigger picture. It can be the most frustrating part of my job because, a lot of times, there isn't a connection.

I guess that's another reason why I wanted to be on this case so badly. Being a rookie means that I don't get the exciting cases. I get the ones that are a dead end or easily solved. I guess helping people doesn't have to be a thrill ride, but you'd think being in the Bureau would at least have a little bit of excitement in it.

So, to me, even analyzing endless files of information with the dullest person in the world is worth it if it means I'll get an opportunity to be part of the action. Hopefully, Anne finds James and will need some back up. Then I could dash out of this room, gun drawn, and go save the day. I can only hope.

"Look at this," The Analyst says to me, taking me away from my thoughts.

"What did you find?"

She places the file on my side of the table so I can get a better look.

It's James' file. I look it over and shrug. "So what? It's his criminal record. He's only got small misdemeanors."

"Look at the ones within the last two years."

Carefully, I examine the page.

"Notice the name that keeps appearing on the bail outs."

"Boothe?"

She slides her glasses back onto her nose. "You don't know who he is?"

I shake my head.

"He's a pretty big name around here."

I shrug my shoulders pseudo-apologetically. "I'm from New York."

"Well, that's no excuse," she says with an irritated sigh. "Mr. Boothe is a business magnate. He has his fingers in almost every major industry here in Chicago."

I lean back into my chair. "Why would he bail out someone like James?"

"Well, Boothe has been suspect to be the Kingpin of an underground crime organization for quite some time. At least, the last ten years." Quietly, she takes the folder back, making sure all of the papers are in proper order. "The problem is that no one has been able to connect him to it."

"He probably has so much money anyway," I say, "he can just pay his way out."

"If he has, no one's been able to find out," she replies. After looking down at the report, she looks back at me and sighs. "Excuse me."

"What?" I respond.

"You have my paper."

"Oh, sorry," I say as I look at the paper again.

She sighs again. "Are you going to give it back?"

"Hold on."

"Hold on?" she says with a little bit of condescension.

I place the paper back on the table and search through the scattered files on my side. There is a file that I glanced at earlier which caught my eye. Opening various manila folders and scanning through their contents, I finally find the one I'm looking for. I look at The Analyst and smile. "Guess who Boothe's step-daughter is?"

"Who?"

"Amber."

A knock comes at the door. A woman peeks her head into the room. "Agent White?"

I nod my head. "That's me."

"There's someone here to see you."

"Who?"

"Her name is Amber Holt."

I chuckle to myself and look to The Analyst. "Speak of the devil."

* * *

Why do people say children have it so easy?

I always hear people say: "I wish I was kid again. Life was so much simpler." It surprises me because I don't remember _my_ childhood being so simple. Sure, I didn't grow up in poverty or a broken home, but it was definitely _complicated_.

See, for me, I was always torn between what my _parents_ wanted me to do and what _I_ wanted to do.

It always seemed like they had a different opinion on what I wanted, like the friends I chose or the decisions I wanted to make, and they made sure I obeyed them. And when I didn't, they give me the third degree.

_"Why do you hate us?"_ they'd tell me if I disobeyed. _"Why don't you love us?"_

They always knew how to make me feel guilty for being myself, for wanting to do whatever I wanted, as if what I wanted was somehow related to how I felt about them as parents. They didn't understand that it wasn't about rebellion, it wasn't about loving them or not.

I just wanted to make my own decisions.

But how does a thirteen year old girl tell that to her parents? How was I supposed to let them know that everything they wanted for me was drastically different than the way I wanted to live?

The funny thing was that I obeyed them anyway. It didn't matter if I resented them for taking away my freedom and taking the joy out of living. I always thought: _They are my parents so I have to do as I am told._

* * *

When I approach, Amber looks nervous. She paces back and forth, hands constantly opening and closing. The last time I saw her, she was broken up about her mother's death. There's definitely something else on her mind now.

"Amber?" I say.

"Sarah!" she exclaims. "Thank God!"

"What' are you doing here?"

She cautiously looks around like she has a secret but is afraid someone is eavesdropping. Silently, she motions with her hand to go outside. Reluctantly, I follow after her, closing the door behind me.

I cross my arms. "What's so important that you couldn't tell me in there?"

She clears her throat and hesitates to respond. "I, uh... have something you might want."

"I'm listening."

"Um... you know that guy who kidnapped Jacob?"

"Yes."

"I have him."

"What?"

"He's in a warehouse. My step-father's warehouse. He uses it to hold all of his cars."

"How... how did this happen?" I stammer. "My partner is out looking for him right now."

Amber shrugs her shoulders. "He showed up at the house, so I knocked him out."

"You knocked him out? Just like that?"

"A hit him with a rock."

I sigh irately. "Amber, I told you not to take matters into your own hands."

"What was I supposed to do?" she responds brashly. "Look, I have him. Do you want him or not?"

I think about Anne. She told me to let her know when I find something. I take out my phone and look up her name in the contact list, but, before I dial her number, I stop.

Telling her where he is will help the case, but where does that leave me? I didn't do any real detective work. I'll just be back where I am now.

I don't even know if Amber is telling the truth. It could be a wild goose chase. Who's to say he hasn't already escaped from the warehouse? He's done crazier things before. I should check it out first and, once I get all of the details, let Anne know.

I slip my phone back in my pocket and nod to Amber. "Yeah. Take me."

* * *

I was supposed to be a lawyer like my father. I _did not_ want to be a lawyer like my father.

When I was eighteen years old, I finally built up the courage to let them know how I really felt. I can still see the disappointment on their faces. They told me that they couldn't understand why I wanted to be in a line of work that was so dangerous, a job that didn't provide the best security.

They didn't understand that I wanted to save people. And being a police officer was the only way I knew how.

I still remember what my father told me. "We have done so much to help you, Sarah. We want you to have a life full of success. A life without regret. If you pursue this desire of yours, you are going to fail. _You are going to fail._"

That was the first time I disobeyed my parents. I left home and set out for law enforcement.

Obedience is supposed to be a good thing, right? What I don't get is that the person who follows the rules is the person who gets left behind. It always seems like the people who break the rules are the ones who get ahead. Whenever there's an opportunity, they have no reservations about taking it.

They don't care if it's dangerous. They don't care if it's not allowed. They just take what they want and bathe in their success...

I thought it would be the same for me. I thought disobeying my parents would benefit me, but do you wanna know what really happened?

I didn't get ahead. My parents were right. I failed.

* * *

Amber turns the light on.

Inside the giant warehouse, James sits in the corner of one of the smaller garages. His hands are tied to a rope that is bolted down to the floor. An empty water bottle rolls by at his feet. He looks dejected, probably upset that a nineteen year old girl caught him. As I enter, the only thing I can think of, though, is how I'm the one who found him and not Anne. She's out there somewhere, looking for him, but he's right here, a few feet in front of me.

Slowly, he looks up as we approach.

"You're a hard man to find," I say.

"Well, here I am."

Amber stands beside me. "Are you going to find out where Jacob is?" she whispers.

"Yeah," I reply.

"Just ask me your questions, Agent White," he says sadly. "It doesn't matter anyway."

"Why?"

"I left."

"Left what?"

"Boothe's organization."

Amber looks at me. "Boothe? As in my step-father?"

I ignore her question. "Is he really the head of a criminal organization?"

James nods solemnly. "Yes, and it's growing."

Amber is shocked. "Sarah, what is he talking about?"

"What do you know about him?" I ask.

"Not a lot."

"Then tell me what you know."

"We met two years ago," he starts slowly. "He needed help building his organization. He told me that he wanted to save the world. So I helped him recruit more and more people to it... I should've known he never intended to save anybody," James shakes his head regrettably. "He wanted to make himself rich, he wanted to have control... but I left." He pauses and shakes his head again. "I am so dead."

"Why?"

"Nobody leaves the organization, Agent White. Sooner or later, he's going to catch up with me and, when he does, I'm dead." He uses his hands to pantomime someone shooting him in the head. "It's only a matter of time."

"We'll protect you for cooperating in this investigation."

He only laughs. "You can't protect me from him."

I exhale calmly. "Fine. There's one more question I have to ask though. Where did you take Jacob?"

James nods slowly. "He's probably with Boothe now. He specifically told me to recruit him."

"Where can I find Boothe?"

"Probably at his mansion-"

Amber steps in front of me. "What does my step-father want with Jacob?"

"I don't know," he replies with a shake of his head.

"Amber," I cut in and push her aside. "Is that everything you know?"

"That's everything."

"Okay," I respond. I look to Amber. "Untie him."

She looks at me, confused. "But what if he tries to escape?"

James looks at me. There is something in his eyes. It's either sadness or regret. Either way, I know he's not going to be a problem anymore. "He won't."

Amber hesitantly goes to him and unties the rope around his wrists. She grabs his arm and glares at him coldly. "Don't even think about disappearing. Since I'm holding on, if you go anywhere, you're taking me with you."

He just nods his head. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."

After stepping out of the small garage, I open my cell phone and dial Anne's number.

She answers quickly. "What have you found?"

"I found James."

"What? Where is he?"

"He's in a warehouse off of South Cicero Avenue."

"Is he detained?"

"Yes. I have him here."

"Good. Stay there and wait for me."

"Wait, there's more."

"What?"

"I found the connection between James, Jacob and Amber."

"Really? What is it?"

"Boothe."

She pauses. "The rich guy?"

"Yeah."

"That's strange."

"He's Amber's step-father and James' boss. I'm gonna get a team and head over to his mansion right now. James told me I could find him _and_ Jacob there."

"No, Sarah," she almost interrupts me. "Don't do anything without me. Wait 'till I get there. There are papers we need to fill out and procedures to go through before we can just barge into someone's house."

"But we might run out of time before any of that is finished!"

"Sarah!"

"What, Anne?" I shout back. "Sometimes you just need to do what you think is right!"

There is silence on the other end of the line. She must be deciding how to respond. Finally, she speaks. "I'm _ordering_ you to stay there and wait for me."

Damn it. I hesitate to say anything back. "Fine."

"Good. I'm on my way," and she hangs up.

* * *

On my first field mission as an agent in the Bureau, it came down to a hostage situation. He was a young boy, kidnapped by his murdering father. We had him cornered, locked in his apartment, and we gave him the choice to let his son go.

For me, it was simple: stop the bad guy, save the hostage. I tried to do both but, in the end, I couldn't save the boy. As soon as he got the idea that he wasn't going to escape, his father killed him before we could do anything, before _I_ could do anything.

The boy died because of me. I failed...

But even though my father was right about me, even though I didn't always succeed in saving people, I never gave up.

When I fail, I try again.

I have to.

How else am I going to get what I want?

* * *

Entering into the garage, my eyes drift over to James. He looks back at me. He has the same look of sadness on his face, as if he knows he did the right thing by telling me everything but he knows it's probably the last thing he'll do.

Sometimes it's harder to do what's right. Anne told me to wait for her, but I know that's not the right thing to do. Jacob could be in danger. He could be in trouble. It's my duty to help him. It's my job as an FBI Agent to save him. I know where he is, I know how to find him. I have the resources to do it.

What's stopping me? Obedience to authority?

Amber takes a deep breath. "So what do we do now?"

I look to her. "You are going to stay here until my partner arrives. Tell her James needs to be protected from Boothe."

Amber looks at him and then back at me. "What are _you_ going to do?"

Obedience can only get you so far. I know I gave Anne my word but sometimes you need to break the rules to do the right thing. And I know I am doing the right thing.

"I'm gonna save Jacob."

* * *

Thank you for reading and please review!


	10. This is my fault, Haley

**HALEY**

Have you ever felt like a broken vase, waiting to be put back together with your other half? It's a feeling of incompleteness, as if there's something out there that can make you feel whole again.

I've felt that way almost my entire life.

Growing up, I thought gaining validation and approval from my Mother would make me feel complete. And it's true, after our relationship improved and we worked on our issues, I felt a little bit more complete than I did before. But the void still remained.

After High School, I felt incomplete because I hadn't pursued my dream to help people. But I went to school, I became a doctor, and now I help people every day.

Sometimes I wonder: _what else is there?_

There's an empty space that I can't seem to fill. And I don't know what to fill it with.

* * *

It's funny how quickly certain events in our lives can trigger memories we think are long forgotten. Even the slightest moments can make us think of years and years of experiences, whether it is of old boyfriends or just of old friends. They pour into our minds like a flood.

As I sit in the Hospital's cafeteria, sipping on the worst coffee in the world, I can't stop thinking about him.

It's a little bit strange to say, but I was proud to see James leave with the FBI. Choosing to leave with them must have been difficult, but, in the end, I think it'll help him. Although he didn't get a chance to tell me what he's going through, I know he's dealing with something. I saw it in his eyes. There was pain. There was regret. I can't imagine the kind of life he must have lived to end up so reserved and guarded.

It's as if my best friend is trying to jump over walls he's created around himself.

You see, the James I knew was kind. Sure, he had his moments when he lost his temper, but I knew deep down he was caring. He was strong and brave. I saw a glimpse of his past self while we were alone. Even something small, like his smile, reminds me of when we were kids, back when we had stupid inside jokes and played ridiculous games just because we wanted to.

But he doesn't seem to have joy in his life anymore. And it makes me sad.

A tap on my shoulder brings me out of my thoughts.

I look up to see my friend, Belle.

"Hey, Girl," she says with a smile. "You okay?"

I look down at the cup of coffee in my hands. "Of course I am. Why?"

As she proceeds to explain her reasons, I think back to a memory. In it, I am eighteen years old, sitting on a bench in the park, waiting patiently for my boyfriend, Thomas.

It's a week before gradation, and I've decided to break up with him. Today is the day I'm going to tell him. I have all of the reasons too: He's not caring enough, he's not exciting enough, and we just don't connect on an emotional level.

Sure, he's gorgeous, but that's it. Plus, after graduation we're leaving for colleges in different cities. It just won't work.

"Haley."

I blink furiously. "What?"

"You are one distracted person," she giggles playfully. "What were you thinking about?"

An image of James pops into my head. I smile.

"Oh, I see," Belle excitedly scoots her chair closer. "I was asking the wrong question. _Who_ were you thinking about?"

"Who?" I ask innocently.

"Yeah, there's someone who's obviously got you staring off into space and smiling like an idiot."

"No," I reply with a chuckle. "I was just thinking of an old friend of mine. I just saw him today. I haven't seen him in a long time."

"That was _not_ a smile for friend, Haley," she says as she tilts her head sideways. "You two ever hook up?"

"What?" I say, slightly offended. "No! He was my best friend growing up."

"Just asking," she says with a shrug.

How can she ask that? Did we ever hook up... James and I were just friends. He was the person who made me feel better about myself and the person I told everything to. We had a strong emotional connection, nothing more.

"You can't stop smiling, can you?"

I look at her. "What?"

"Are you still thinking about your 'friend'?"

I shake my head. "Of course not."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," Belle says with a grin. She stands up. "Well, I have one more round before my shift ends."

"Yeah, me too," I reply. "I'll see you later."

With a nod, she gets up and walks away. As she leaves, I look back to my cup of coffee and another memory comes to mind:

I'm sixteen years old. James and I are in a small cafe drinking the best cup of coffee I have ever had. I tell him about how my Mother and Father don't let me have any fun, about how my life consists of school and study and nothing more.

He nods his head and smiles understandably. "It's a good thing you have me then. Otherwise, you'd have the most boring life ever!"

I cheerfully play along. "Of course! Without you I'd never have experienced coffee like this!"

"Yeah," he replies with a nod his head. "That's all I'm good for, Haley. Coffee."

Thinking about the times when we used to travel the world together and experience something new every day makes me happy. We never had too much to worry about, just us and the moment. Those were good times.

Belle is right.

I can't stop smiling.

* * *

It seems like the only thing that I've never been quite good with is love, but that's not exactly the most important thing in life, right? It sweeps you away, makes you act like a stupid person. Is it really necessary? I mean, I've gone through most of my adult life without it and I've done pretty well so far.

Sure, I've had boyfriends and I've dated a few times in the past, but none of them brought me any of that true love's "happiness" everyone seems to talk about. It's not that the guys weren't nice people, it's just that there was always something that didn't feel right.

And I've always had my reasons: he wasn't courageous or strong enough to be the right person for me. He never treated me quite the right way. None of them made me feel good about myself or made me feel like I could do anything.

I know what I want in a person, but none of them ever met those requirements.

* * *

The end of my shift finally comes. There are still a lot of casualties from the earthquake, but there seems to be some stability within the hospital again. Still, every patient I see and every chart I put away are just motions. My mind continues to race a million miles per second.

Belle is right: A person doesn't act this way over_ just_ a friend. Just thinking about him again makes me feel lightheaded. Remembering what it's like to touch his hand and tell him everything is going to be okay makes me want to see him one more time.

I haven't felt this way in a long time. It's familiar, yet completely different than any emotion I've felt in the past.

I can't help but wonder: how can seeing him again impact me so strongly?

It doesn't make any sense.

We were only best friends when I was a teenager. We shared a lot together, and he was an important part of my life, but I never thought of him like this before. You'd think ten years would be enough time to realize something so strong. But I can't deny the evidence. Every time I pass a window or see my reflection, I see my face, and there is a glow that doesn't seem to fade away.

And a memory suddenly flashes in front of my eyes:

I'm sitting on the floor of my Father's study room. His prized pistol is in my hands, shaking uncontrollably against my right temple. It's the day I have decided to commit suicide, but before I can do it, James stops me. He talks me through what I'm going through and the reasons why I want to take my life.

When my Mother enters into the room, shocked about my actions, we argue because she doesn't understand how she makes my life miserable, that she constantly belittles me and criticizes me. I tell her how I feel like nothing I do is ever good enough for her and I am tired of trying.

Before I can finally pull the trigger, James kneels down in front of me. He looks at me. He is afraid. His hands shake. "Think about the lives you'll be affecting," he says to me.

I shake my head. "Nobody cares about me."

"I do," he responds. "I love you."

I don't know how to respond, but I let go of the pistol.

A nurse walks by and says good-bye to me, bringing me out of my thoughts. I wipe a stray tear from my cheek. He was such an important part of my life. Why didn't I say it back? I must have loved him too. Maybe I didn't know it at the time.

I should've said it when I had the chance. Maybe he would have stayed.

He wrote me a letter before he left. It said that I taught him how to care for someone other than himself. He said that, even though he used his gift for selfish gain in the past, he is going to use it to save people's lives, that it was all thanks to me. It didn't matter if I loved him back or not, he wrote, he was thankful to have even known me. I never got a chance to thank him back. I never got a chance to say how important he was to me too.

_I should tell him how I feel_.

I want to see him. I want to tell him all of the things I never had a chance to say.

I look at my watch. It's really early, but I can probably still see him at the FBI Headquarters.

Throwing off my white coat and putting on my jacket, I storm out of the fourth floor double doors. As soon as I turn the corner, he runs right into me.

It's almost as if fate wants me to find him.

"Haley!" he exclaims.

All the thoughts of what I want to tell him immediately vacate my head. "James, what are you doing here?" I ask, startled and surprised.

"I had to see you."

I melt on the inside, but I manage to pull myself together. "How did you escape from the FBI?"

He smiles. "How else? I teleported away."

"James!" I say, smacking him on the shoulder.

"What?"

"You escaped from the FBI? What were you thinking?"

He looks away for a moment.

I'm not really angry with him. I pretend to be because I don't know how I truly feel. There is a side of me, the logical side, that tells me to think rationally and to view him objectively. But being so close to him makes my heart beat faster. My hands shake so I put them in my pockets. It feels awkward so I cross my arms and take a step backward. I look at his face, searching for anything to focus my attention on, but I think: _why are my arms crossed?_

Maybe I should put them back in my pockets.

_Why do I keep thinking about my hands?_

He looks back to me. His eyes no longer show the pain and regret like yesterday. It seems to have been replaced by hope. "I told them everything I knew, Haley," he says softly. "I told them where Jacob is. They're looking for him right now."

I try to calm my breath.

He walks closer and takes my hands into his. "But I had to see you one last time."

His hands are rough, but, somehow, completely soft against my skin. I lick my lips. They are so dry. My eyes drift from his hands up to his face. He smiles and I can't help but return the favor.

"I want to tell you something."

"Okay," I whisper.

"I've done some terrible things in my past. After we met, I was never quite the same. I tried to keep my promise to help people, but I messed up. I got caught up in some bad stuff, and I forgot who I was," he pauses to bring our hands close to his chest. "But seeing you again reminds me of the person I used to be. The person I want to be again."

I can feel his heart beat. It's so strong. I look to him with bright eyes and weak knees. "Keep going."

He laughs and moves closer. "You are so amazing, Haley. You will always define me."

I think of every man who has told me how much they loved me. None of them made me feel the way I do now. I've been looking for someone to complete me but I never found it because none of them could compare to James, none of them were even close.

"Seeing you again reminds me of how special you are, Haley," he says as if it is a secret. "With you, I can do anything."

He says all of the right things. His dark hazel eyes pierce through me. I can't think of anything else but the life we could live, the places we could go. It could be like it was when we were teenagers, without a care in the world.

"I know it sounds ridiculous. I haven't seen you in ten years," he says, "but I came to tell you that I'm willing to do whatever it takes to be with you." He takes a deep breath. "But if you tell me to go back and turn myself in again, I will."

The voice in the back of my head tells me to respond carefully. _Don't get swept away by the moment._

"Do you want to be with me?"

I don't care though. I don't care if he's done terrible things in the past. I don't care if he escaped from the FBI and is running away from the law. He can disappear forever. _We_ can disappear forever. As long as we're together, I know we'll be happy.

Even though this is how I feel, I can't say it out loud. My heart cringes because I know what I need to say. "I do," my voice wavers. "I want to be with you, but..."

"But what?"

"But what about all that's happened? The FBI are going to chase you down-"

"They won't find us."

"James," I say, weakly, loosening my grip on his hands. "It's amazing how surprisingly unexpected all of this is-"

"In a good way?"

I chuckle. "Yes, in a very good way... but I can't help but think about everything that might happen if we just run away from it all."

"What are you saying?"

"We're not kids anymore, James. We can't just ignore the consequences of our actions."

James nods his head slowly. He knows I'm right. It hurts me to tell him, but I can't keep living in the past. Neither of us can. Things will never be the way it used to be. I wish we could make a new life for ourselves, I wish we could make it work, but I can't lie to myself.

His hand moves across my forehead as he moves a lock of hair out of my eyes, brushing the rest behind my ear. "Do you love me?" he asks quietly.

_Just tell him_, I think to myself.

I exhale slowly and look into his eyes. "I-"

The lights in the hospital flicker before completely shutting off, stopping me from answering further.

"That's weird," he says.

Suddenly, a bright blue electrical arc shoots out of the darkness and strikes him. He crashes against the wall a few feet away.

I scream.

He grunts. I can't see, but I can tell that he's still on the floor.

"You should've known better than to leave Mr. Boothe!" a voice echoes down the hallway.

Another bright flash sails through the air and lands where James used to be.

I back up into the wall, grasping at any source of safety. I have no idea what's happening. I have no idea who the attacker is. How he is shooting electricity? Actually, I don't care. My heart paces faster, and it's not because I'm in James' presence.

"Get out of here," I suddenly hear beside me.

I flinch. "James?"

"This is my fault, Haley. You shouldn't be around for this."

"But-"

"Run, Haley. And don't look back."

"But-"

His lips press against mine, rendering me speechless. I close my eyes and let the feeling of euphoria overwhelm me.

Our lips separate.

He takes my hand. "Go."

I don't think twice. I trust him completely.

With my arms outstretched, groping for sight in the darkness, the sounds of the battle reach my ears.

Punches, kicks, bodies smashing into walls.

I hear James yell.

I hear him scream.

I turn around.

Bright flashes pulsate down the hall. Sparks explode down the corridor. In one second I see the silhouettes of two individuals fighting and, in the next, there is only darkness. I watch in horror as the thought of losing James creeps into my head.

_James, _I think. _What have you gotten yourself into?_

Suddenly, there is a haunting silence. No more crashing bodies or screams of pain. No more bright flashes or sparks. Walking forward, I use my hand as my eyes, keeping close to the wall. I hold my breath.

"James," I whisper.

There is only silence.

"James!" I try a little bit louder.

A hand grabs my arm.

"James?"

A sudden pain runs up my arm and through my entire body. I collapse on the floor, jerking against the wall, every muscle in my body in an uncontrollable spasm.

I hear a wicked laugh and then everything goes black.


	11. Hello, Jacob

**JACOB**

Sometimes the most profound questions we can ask ourselves are about our very purpose. What am I supposed to do with my life? How am I supposed to use my gifts? Should I use them for selfish purposes or to benefit the world?

The world is full of heroes, brave men and women who risk their lives to benefit mankind. They make their marks in history and are remembered forever in written form or in the minds of their loved ones.

The thing about heroes like _us_, though, is that we don't receive any recognition for our acts of courage. Nobody knows evolved humans exist, so, if we stop a disaster from almost destroying the world, no one even knows we were there.

We live in secret. We protect in secret.

* * *

The story of my downfall begins with a man. A man named Dominic Hilton.

He rose up to become one of the biggest threats to the world. He had the ability to influence probability in his favor, an ability that he abused to bring ruin to everything around him.

The thing about Dominic was that he didn't have a motive for what he did. Dominic enjoyed manipulating people. He enjoyed seeing desperate people react badly to any given situation and he loved mind games. When he found out that there were other people like him, evolved humans with special gifts, his agenda changed. He wanted to prove that, when it came down to it, evolved humans would use their gifts for selfish purposes. He boasted that all of us will turn into a villain under the right circumstances.

In the end, we proved him wrong. We proved to him that evolved human or not, real heroes always choose the action that will benefit mankind, even when it's hard.

And like I said before: It was me who saved the world.

Sadly, I did not receive any accolades from the press or any acknowledgment from the rest of the world for what I did. My colleagues knew. They knew how special I was, how important I was to the team. They thanked me for acting quickly and making the hard decision, but in the end, that's all they gave.

They told me keeping our existence a secret was more important than being noticed for being heroes.

_What good is it to be a hero if nobody knows about it?_ I thought to myself.

I wanted to make a bigger impact.

So, little by little, I used my ability to make earthquakes and created situations where I could be given the due honor for my heroism. It didn't start off very big and I always chose places where earthquakes were common. A small earthquake off the coast of Thailand to get some worldwide attention and then a little shock in downtown Los Angeles to get some recognition.

I caused one disaster just big enough so that when we came in to save the day, the news reporters were all over me. It was all over the world: The nineteen-year-old boy who risked his life to help complete strangers.

It was nice to finally get recognized for my talents.

But I became addicted to the feeling of praise, the attention, the need for validation. I never received any from my parents, and I craved it from everyone one around me. Over the next two years, I systematically continued my plan for prominence.

Very soon, my old colleagues realized I was the one behind the disasters. They fought me, they tried to stop me but I had become too powerful, and I wouldn't allow them to get in my way. To me, I wasn't doing anything wrong. After all, I was still saving people's lives.

It wasn't until the plan backfired, did I realize my mistake.

I had two types of earthquake: A large one to draw people's attention and then a smaller one to give that attention to me. I used the former like a warning. The earthquakes I created were very concentrated, strong enough to shake the ground or crumble buildings, but I made sure that the warning shocks were in areas where nobody could get hurt. I never killed anybody. Sure there was the occasional casualty, but no one ever died from my warning earthquakes.

Until, one day, people did.

I was about to cause a warning earthquake, when Alec, Casey, Hiro and James attempted to stop me. We battled, and in the heat of my rage, I used everything I had in one powerful shock to defeat them. In the process, though, I destroyed an entire city, wiped it completely off of the map. I killed millions.

I ran in fear. I hid. The events of that day constantly replayed in my mind. The city was there one second and gone in the next, swallowed up forever by the ground. And it was all _my _fault.

_What have I done?_ I kept thinking.

Hiro found me at the lowest point of my depression, sword drawn, ready for a battle.

"A real hero never uses his power for selfish gain," he told me.

I knew he was right. I was so blind by my desire for prominence and glory that I never even realized that I had become the villain. In the end, Dominic was right about me.

"Kill me," I asked him.

Hiro shook his head. "No."

I pleaded with him to kill me, to end my life, because I didn't deserve to be alive for what I did. The guilt and bloodshed that was on my hands just wouldn't wipe away.

"I will not kill you," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "But I will bring you somewhere you can't hurt anybody else."

In the blink of an eye, he sent me to a small town in the middle of nowhere where a little community of farmers made a living.

"Build a new life," he told me before he disappeared. "Everyone deserves a second chance."

Little did he know, Hiro sent me into the past, ten years before I was even born, to a world that I was not familiar with. But I took his word. I made a new life, a new identity.

And I found my purpose once again.

* * *

Bodies of FBI Agents decorate the floor of my living room. At my command, my body guards hastily bring their bodies to the shed in the back to be disposed of. I take a deep breath in frustration. This is the first time the FBI has tried to arrest me. They didn't even have a warrant to search my house. They must be getting more stupid.

One of my servants stands idly by the staircase.

"Clean this place up."

He nods his head and leaves the room.

I open the door to my office. The leader of the pack, Agent White, sits in the middle of the room, bound to a chair, unable to move. She wriggles against the rope in a futile attempt to escape.

She glares at me. "When I get out of this, I'm going to arrest the crap out of you!"

I chuckle. She's definitely amusing. Without responding, I pull out a Mark XIX Desert Eagle and rest it against her forehead.

"Damn it!" she spits.

Suddenly, the door opens. It's Cale, my second in command. "Mr. Boothe," he says.

I nod my head in acknowledgment. "Just a second, Cale. I'm almost finished here."

"But he's here."

My finger eases off of the trigger. "You brought him?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Where is he?"

"In the living room."

"Excellent work," I commend him as I hand over my gun. "Kill her for me."

Cale nods his head and closes the door behind me. Taking a deep, mind-clearing breath, I take a moment to mentally compose myself.

This is it. This is what I've been waiting for. After all of the death I caused, after everything I went through, this is what I am meant to do. This is why Hiro mistakenly brought me into the past. My purpose is to change the course of _my_ history so that I do not become a villain.

I have waited twenty-three years for this moment.

He sits quietly on the couch. I approach him. He looks exactly the way I remember.

"Hello, Jacob," I say.

He eyes me suspiciously. "Uh...Hi."


	12. Were they working for my stepfather?

**AMBER**

You can have all of the time in the world, but it still takes less than thirty seconds to make any given decision. It can take months to plan for something big, but it takes one decision to change the course of history.

Unfortunately, it took thirteen years for my step-father to ruin my life.

* * *

My eyes shoot open. The first thing that comes to mind is an image of my mother. I am on the floor in my step-father's warehouse, surrounded by a bunch of people dressed in black suits. My head throbs and my side aches. As I try to collect my thoughts, she reaches down and helps me up.

"Amber, are you okay?" she says.

I look at her again only to realize it's actually Agent Lara, Sarah's partner. "Uh, Yeah," I stammer. "I'll be fine."

"What happened?" She asks. "Where's Sarah?"

"Sarah? She's... she's gone."

"Where did she go?"

I close my eyes. It's really difficult to think when you have a headache the size of Texas. "She... she said that she was going to save Jacob."

"Damn it!" Agent Lara exclaims. She slams her fist into the side of the wall. "I told her not to do anything!"

I take a deep breath and lean up against the side of the wall, attempting to recover. James completely caught me off guard. I don't think I've ever been hit that hard before, but I distinctly remember him saying sorry before knocking me out. The pain in my head is slowly going away, but the ache in my side is one persistent little pest.

"Sarah told me Jacob was with Boothe," Agent Lara mumbles to herself. "She's probably headed to his mansion. We need to get over there right now!" She barks to the rest of her team. As they file out of the garage, she approaches me and places her hand on my shoulder. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Yeah," I respond. "I'll be fine."

"Amber," she says slowly.

"What?"

"Where's James? Sarah said he was here too."

I shake my head. "He got away."

"How?"

"After Sarah left, she asked me to let him go-"

"Wait," Agent Lara interrupts. "Sarah left you _alone_ with him?"

"Yeah."

"And you let him go?"

"No! He wanted me to."

"Well, then, where is he?"

I take a deep breath. "He told me that my step-father doesn't just let a person leave. He said nobody ever leaves. If someone wants out, he kills you. And when you run, he kills everyone close to you."

"Amber," she says more forcefully. "I need to know where James is."

"James wanted to save the only person who was closest to him."

"Who?"

"Haley."

Agent Lara looks at the door and clenches her jaw. I can tell she is deep in thought. After a moment, she turns back to me. "Do you know where I can find her?"

I nod my head. "I'll take you there."

* * *

Here's an example of how he has ruined my life:

A year ago, when I was a senior in High School, there was a boy. His name was Max. He sat in front of me in seventh period calculus. Every day for two weeks, he'd turn around and ask me to help him with the problems on the board or with the homework assignment for the week. It started out with small conversations at our desks, but soon I was conducting tutoring sessions at his house.

The interesting thing was that I didn't have much of an opinion of him. He wasn't particularly handsome. Obviously, he wasn't the smartest person in the world, but I always noticed how easily he made me laugh. I also noticed how easy it was to talk to him.

And we talked a lot after class or after our tutoring sessions. After a while it became easier to tell him about the things I've been through with my parents, how I feel about my step-father, or just about myself. He told me about his life too. His insecurities and his problems, his concerns about the future or where he wanted to be. I felt very comfortable around him. I felt extremely secure around him. And I felt like he needed me as much I needed him.

One day, I kissed him. It just happened, something in me clicked, and I did it. And when he kissed back, I knew he felt the same way too. It was the first time I was willing to put down my walls and allow myself to fall for someone since Dillon, but Max was worth it.

Have you ever met someone who made your life better? Someone who helped you become a better person just by being around? That's what Max was for me. He was "the one". He was the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

Everything was going perfectly in my life. I wanted it to stay that way forever.

We had been going out for seven months when he asked to meet my mother and step-father. It seemed like a good idea. I mean, the boyfriend should meet the parents, right?

I should have just trusted my gut and said "No" because, a day before graduation, Max broke up with me.

"Are you joking right now?" I asked him.

He shook his head sadly. "No. I'm sorry."

"Wait," I said, trying to make sense of it all. "Why are you doing this? What brought this up?"

"After I had dinner with your mom and step-father, I started thinking."

"Thinking? About what?"

"About the future. About _my_ life. About _your_ life."

"What does that mean? How does that affect us?"

"I'm holding you back, Amber."

"From what?"

"From everything."

"What does that mean, Max?" I said more forcefully. "Everything was going fine."

And then he looked straight into my eyes. There was sense of obligation in his voice, and it frightened me. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Wait," I pleaded. "Just tell me why."

His last words to me were: "Ask your step-father."

And I did. I asked my step-father. I asked him why Max broke up with me. I demanded for an explanation.

"You have a lot ahead of you, Amber. You're too good for someone like him."

"What did you do?" I demanded.

"I don't take back my actions."

"Tell me what you did!"

"I told him to break up with you."

He said it like it meant nothing. I was shocked. "You... what?"

"Max knew I was right too, Amber. He agreed with me," he started. "He knew you were going places that he couldn't follow after High School. You're so much _smarter_ than he is. You're so much _better_ than he is. How do you expect to do amazing things in the future when you have someone like him holding you back?"

I couldn't even respond. It was ridiculous. When did he ever care for my future?

"Listen to him, honey," my mother said. "We want what's best for you."

I never saw Max again. After graduation, he moved away without a single word to me. I don't blame _him _though. It was my step-father's fault. I was finally happy for the first time in a long time, and he single handedly destroyed it all.

I hate him for it.

* * *

I direct Agent Lara and her agents to the hospital where Haley works. The darkness from the lingering night sky inches overhead as the sun begins to break the dawn. I stare out of the window as the scene unfolds. The throbbing pain subsides, but it is replaced by something else: the hope that we aren't too late. A stiff breeze blows through the car as Agent Lara jumps out, followed closely by two other agents. She barks out a few orders and they enter inside. Curiously, I notice a black van pull up on the curb.

I wait in silence.

My mind goes to Jacob and I pray my step-father hasn't hurt him. I think of Haley and I pray that my step-father hasn't killed her. I want to do something. I want to help.

But what can _I_ do? Three FBI Agents are on their way to make sure Haley is safe and Sarah already went off to save Jacob. I'm just a nineteen year old girl. What can I do? All I'm good for is giving directions.

Suddenly, a bright flash of light explodes out of a window on the second floor, throwing me out of my thoughts. Shards of glass and rubble crash down on the sidewalk. Instinctively, I stumble to the front and peer out of the windshield to get a better view.

One of the agents is on the ground, squirming in pain. The second agent appears in the gaping hole of the hospital wall, looking down at his partner. He has his cell phone out. He looks like he just peed in his pants.

I open the passenger door and cautiously inch out.

He notices me. "Hey!" He calls out. "Get back in the car!"

"What's going on?" I yell back. "What happened?"

Just as I finish my sentence, the double doors to the hospital explode off of their hinges. I jump out of the way as one smashes into the hood of the car. I cover my eyes as glass flies in every direction.

Everything happens so quickly.

"We need back up at the Mercy Hospital & Medical Center right now, damn it!" I hear from above. "Two agents are down! I repeat: two agents are down-"

His voice is cut short by a blast of electricity to the face.

Looking up, I see a man standing where the double doors used to be. He has a body over his shoulder and a person standing in front of him. Both of his captives are bound and wearing black hoods over their heads. Arcs of electricity sporadically spill out of his finger tips like a waterfall as he walks towards the getaway vehicle.

"Get in!" I hear someone yell from inside the van.

"Let her go, Seth!" says one of the hooded prisoners. "She's not part of this."

"You were the one who decided to leave, James. This is just the repercussion."

"Haley!" I whisper to myself.

Without thinking, I get up to my feet and rush towards them. Adrenaline overpowers me as the only thought that enters into my mind is Haley and saving her from the freak.

He sees me.

My head whips back. I am immediately enveloped in an electrical shock. I scream as my feet give out from under me. My muscles spasm uncontrollably. I struggle to get up but I'm in too much pain.

Okay, stupid move. Let me try that again.

Pushing past the pain, I close my eyes and concentrate as hard as I can.

The double doors to the hospital explode off of their hinges. I jump out of the way as one smashes into the hood of the car. I cover my eyes as glass flies in every direction.

"We need back up at the Mercy Hospital & Medical Center right now, damn it!" The agent yells into his cell phone, two stories above me. "Two agents are down! I repeat: two agents are down-" A blast of electricity to the face cuts him off before he can finish his sentence.

The bad guy walks away from the hospital, Haley draped over his shoulder and James walking blindly in front of him.

"Get in!"

"Let her go, Seth! She's not part of this."

"You were the one who decided to leave, James. This is just the repercussion."

Slowly, I get back up and hide behind the broken chassis of Agent Lara's car, careful not to be seen. I exhale slowly to clear my head. Obviously, if I try to attack without a plan, I'm gonna get shocked. I need to think of something a lot smarter if I'm going to help Haley.

Glancing at my surroundings, I notice a car stopped in the middle of the road, a few feet away from the hospital. He must be one of the few unfortunate people who has to get up early to go to work. I wonder what he's thinking right now.

I look over my shoulder just as the doors close and the van screeches off.

Damn it. How am I going to catch up with them now?

I look at the fallen agent on the ground. His gun is still in his hand, and he's not too far away. Quickly, I rush over to his broken body. Stealing the gun from his fingers, I run over to the stopped car. Slamming my hand onto the hood, I try to get the driver's attention.

He rolls down his window. "What the hell happened?"

"I need your car."

"My car?" he exclaims. "Are you a cop?"

"Yes," I stammer. "Get out!"

"Where's your badge?"

Damn. I forgot the badge. I close my eyes.

The doors of the van close and it screeches off.

The fallen agent is not very far. Quickly, I run over to his broken body, take his gun, and swipe his badge off of his belt. This time, I'm not gonna let that guy even talk to me.

Slamming the handle of the gun into the hood of the overly intuitive driver's car, I flash the badge and open his door. "Get out of the vehicle."

"What? Are you a cop?"

Without hesitation, I grab his shirt collar and pull him out. "I said: get out!"

As I step on the gas, the van turns right. It's strange to see the roads virtually empty. Hopefully I can use that to my advantage. I know I can't stop them, but if I remember how to get where they will end up, I can catch up with them there.

It's a good thing I'm really good with directions.

* * *

If there's a single truth that I'm completely confident about is this: The hatred I have for my step-father is absolutely justifiable.

There are so many reasons why I hate him, but the worst one is that he pretends to care about me. Every time my mom was around, he smiled at me or he said something nice to me. On multiple occasions, he acted in my "best interests" and my mother couldn't have been happier, but I wasn't fooled. As soon as she left the room, it was back to a consistent regiment of hurtful words and careful neglect... not that _I_ care.

I mean, sure, I've asked myself why he does it. I've come up with different reasons too, like: Maybe he never wanted to have a family, maybe his parents were verbally abusive too. But in the end, it doesn't really matter why he does it. The worst part is how he got away with it.

I hate how well he manipulated my mother.

When he married her, he said that he wasn't just marrying her. He told her that he understood that he was marrying into a _family_. He told her how he was going to take care of _his_ family, me included. And she believed him.

I was only seven years old when he came into my life. And it's been hell ever since.

Every time I told my mother how much I hated him for being so mean and hurtful, how he said horrible things to me behind her back, all she did was listen. She let me vent, but she never did anything about it. You see, to her, I was just being a normal teenager, dealing with a new man in her life.

* * *

The bad guys take James and Haley just outside of the Wrigley Building, onto the Michigan Avenue Bridge. I hide behind one of the southwest bridge houses, not too far from where they stand.

The situation is very delicate. I haven't quite figured out a good way to approach it. There are two of them: Electricity Man, Seth, and his accomplice, who has been referred to as Tom on multiple occasions (Tom has a gun).

If I go straight up to them, shooting the gun I stole from the FBI Agent, I won't stand a chance. Tom will shoot me or Seth will get me with his electricity, and I have no way to defend myself against that. If I try to shoot them from where I am, it will only alert them of my presence and, once again, Tom will shoot me or Seth will do his electricity thing. I can't stand a chance against the both of them when they attack. Besides, I don't have the best aim.

I decide to hang back and wait for an opportunity to present itself.

"Please. Let her go," James pleads with his captors, struggling with the handcuffs around his wrists.

Tom ignores him, cocks the pistol and points it at Haley.

"Damn it, Seth!" He yells more desperately. "Tell him to put the gun down!"

Seth smirks.

James shakes his head. "Just let her go."

With a wave of his hand, Haley's life is spared momentarily. Seth reaches over and pulls off her hood. From where I am, I catch a glimpse of her face. A few tears roll down her cheek, but she manages to smile when she looks at James. Although Haley must be terrified, she doesn't seem to show it.

Seth takes her head and forces her to look at James. "You are about to die," he says to her. "You have fifteen seconds to say whatever you want."

James looks into her eyes.

She leans forward. She whispers something into his ear.

James smiles and kisses her on the lips.

Seth nods his head. His friend raises the gun back up to her forehead.

"No!"

James lunges forward and tries to push Tom away.

Seth opens his hand. A bright flash brings him down to the floor, arcs of electricity sparking off of his body. James grunts as he struggles to get back up.

"James!" Haley screams.

"You are making it very difficult for me not to kill you first!" Seth spits. Taking the gun away from his accomplice, he points it at James. "I guess I'll just kill your girlfriend _after_ you."

The gunshot echoes through the empty city block.

But James is gone.

He reappears behind Tom and kicks him into Seth, who drops the pistol. Expertly, James jumps in the air and brings his hands out from behind his back.

Seth regains his balance. Quickly, he fires off another bolt but James dodges it and kicks him in the stomach. Simultaneously, he transports to Tom and punches him in the face.

James spins around, diving for the gun.

A bolt of electricity collides into him before he can pull the trigger. As his feet give out from under him, he drops the weapon on the ground.

Seth angrily picks it up and brings the barrel to the back of James' head. "Nobody leaves, James! You knew that!"

I have seen this moment happen over and over again. This is my window of opportunity. Before he can pull the trigger, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Time reverses thirty seconds.

With a nod of Seth's head, Tom raises his gun back to Haley's forehead.

"No!" James screams as he lunges forward.

Seth opens his hand and a burst of electricity brings him down. James grunts as he struggles to get back up.

"James!" Haley screams.

"You are making it very difficult for me not to kill you first!" Seth spits.

I fire a shot into the sky to get their attention.

Tom curiously looks around. "What was that?"

Seth cautiously takes the gun away from him. "Go check it out. I'll take care of James."

Tom nods his head and pulls out a second gun from his chest holster.

I swallow the saliva building up in the back of my throat. He's going to appear around the corner, with his gun drawn. I have to duck and pull the trigger.

_Don't think about it_, I whisper to myself. _Just do it!_

Tom turns the corner with his gun drawn. I duck down and pull the trigger. Immediately, he drops his weapon. He uses his free hand to cover the wound in his stomach. A pool of blood begins to stain his shirt.

My heart pounds in my ears. My breath falters. Even though it feels like I've done this scenario fifty different times, it doesn't seem to make it any easier.

"Nobody leaves, James! You knew that!"

I turn the corner and race down the bridge. I pull the trigger again.

The bullet hits Seth in the leg.

He involuntarily pulls the trigger.

Haley jumps in front of James.

She falls over the edge of the bridge and into the river

James dives in after her.

If I don't kick Seth first, he'll shoot me. If I hesitate to pull the trigger, he'll still shoot me. I have to remember to do both.

I run forward, slamming my foot into his leg. He grunts in pain and collapses onto his knees. I lift my arm, close my eyes, and pull.

His body falls over, blood pouring out of his temple.

I take a deep breath. My mind is completely blank. All I can think of are the two people I have just killed. Countless reasons to justify my actions pour into my head but my hand keeps shaking. I look at the gun. Smoke is still trailing out of the barrel. I did what I had to do to save lives.

I breathe slowly and recompose myself.

I did what I had to do to save lives.

* * *

I don't know how to explain it, but I have a unique ability. So many people in this world wish they could have a re-do, a second chance for a new outcome, a second chance to do something different.

Well, I can have as many second chances as I want.

After Max broke up with me, I fell into a deep depression. _Why do all of the people I love leave me?_ I asked over and over again. First it was my dad, then it was Dillon, and finally it was Max. I spent nights in my bed, wishing to go back so that I never met Max or Dillon. I wished that I could go back and stop my mother from even meeting someone else.

Then one night, something changed. I found myself repeating myself, saying the same thing over and over again. And the strange thing was that the clock never changed.

I got my wish.

The problem is that I didn't learn about my ability until after I graduated, after everything came crumbling around my feet. You see, I can only go back thirty seconds at a time, and the moments I wanted change already happened.

My step-father ruined my family by marrying my mother, I had to accept that. My step-father ruined my relationship with Max, I had to accept that. My step-father ruined my chances at happiness, I had to accept that.

But I vowed that I would never let him do it again. I was going to take every second chance it took. He was never going to ruin my life again.

* * *

I look over the ledge of the bridge, scanning the river for any sign of James or Haley.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I hear from behind me.

I turn around and aim, but it's only James. He has Haley in his arms. As I lower the gun, I notice that they are wet from head to toe. "I... I wanted to help," I reply. "Is she okay?"

He looks at me curiously before looking down at her. "I don't know," his voice shakes. "I think she's unconscious, but it doesn't look like the bullet went through."

I look at Haley. Her cold, rigid body. I can't tell if the water under her eyes is from the river or if she is crying. It's probably both. I look at James. He loves her so much. All he wanted to do was live his life. All he wanted to do was leave my step-father's twisted organization and be with her. I can't help but feel sorry for him.

"Were they working for my step-father?" I ask.

Silently, he looks at Seth's motionless body. He nods his head. "He sent them to kill Haley... just like I told you he would."

"This is _his_ fault," I whisper.

"Who's fault?"

"My step-father," I reply stoically. "If it wasn't for him, you never would have been in this position. Haley's life would never have been in danger. You could be together without worrying about someone trying to kill you."

James looks down at the woman in his arms, nodding his head. He exhales deeply, his hand slowly turning into a fist. "I'm going to kill him," he says.

"What?"

He looks back at me. "You're right. It's Boothe's fault. And Haley will never be safe if he's still alive."

My jaw clenches. It's weird being on the other side of his destructive power. I know how easy it is for my step-father to destroy my life, but I never considered how easily he can destroy other people's lives. It makes me sick.

"No," Haley whispers weakly. "Don't do it."

My grasp on the pistol's handle loosens slightly. How can she tell him not to do all he can to make sure their lives are safe?

James immediately kneels down and holds her closer to his body. "Shh," he whispers softly. "Don't speak. You've just been shot."

She cringes from the pain. "Don't kill him, James."

"Why?"

"Because," she coughs, looking straight into his eyes, "you're not a killer."

I look down at the gun in my hand. I think of the men I have just killed. I think of my step-father and all the pain and suffering he has caused. I think of James and Haley living their lives free from fear. I think of Jacob. My step-father still has him. Who knows what he's going to do to him.

"Fine," James says, kissing her on the forehead, "but I need to take you to the hospital."

"Wait," I speak up.

James stands up and waits for me to continue.

"Take me to my step-father's mansion first."

"Why?"

"Because," I say. "_I'm_ gonna kill him."


	13. You didn't hesitate at all!

**SARAH**

Most of my life, I was told I couldn't do what I wanted. Not because it was wrong, not because it was a waste of time, but because I wasn't good enough.

Do you know what it's like to live through your entire existence having everybody doubt your ability? No one thinks I'm capable. No one thinks I can.

But the minute I start believing it, is the minute I give up. And I will never give up.

I hate being told what I can't do.

* * *

The door closes and Mr. Boothe is gone, leaving behind one of his men with orders to kill me.

This is so not fair.

I try really hard to do what I think is right. I work my butt off for the Bureau and this is what I get?

This is how it ends?

I'm tied up, no one knows where I am, and a Mark XIX Desert Eagle is pointed at my head.

Frantically, I look around the room for a way to escape. Sadly, it looks really hopeless. Suddenly, something passes by the window.

_Was that James and Amber? _I think. _What are they doing here?_

Amber's head peers around the corner. Quietly, she ducks down and points at Mr. Boothe's guard, mouthing the words: _Distract him._

"What are you looking at?"

I look back, straight into the barrel of the gun. "Uh, nothing."

He turns to face the window.

"Uh... Hey, hey!" I shout to get his attention. "Let's, you know, talk about this. He didn't say to kill me right now, right? Can't you do it later?"

He turns back and grins. "You're funny."

"I bet that's what your boss meant," I respond. My voice cracks but I ignore it. "I'm sure he wasn't finished interrogating me."

He narrows his eyes. "And what kind of information would someone like you have that Mr. Boothe needs to know?"

I blankly stare at him, trying to think of something to say. "Probably... some... FBI secrets or something like that."

"You would willingly give up FBI secrets?"

I try to swallow but my mouth has gone dry. Who knew stalling for time would be so hard? "You never know. I might be one of those dirty cops you always hear about."

The tip of the pistol taps my chin. He grins more. "So, you're a _dirty_ cop?"

I gag almost immediately. "Ew, no, not like that. You're gross."

He chuckles. "You're amusing. Too bad I have to kill you."

I look back at the window. _What is taking her so long?_

"Why do you keep looking at the window?" he asks sternly.

My eyes dart back to his face. "Nothing," I say quickly. "I wasn't looking at anything."

Cautiously, he lowers the pistol.

"I wasn't looking at anything," I say again. "Are you deaf?"

Ignoring me, he slowly moves towards the window. As he does, he checks certain vantage points, making sure he isn't in any lines of sight. He probably thinks I have back up somewhere on the property.

I clench my teeth together. _Damn it._ _I hope Amber knows what she's doing._

Slowly, he opens the window.

"What the-?"

He grunts as Amber smashes the butt of her pistol into his face. Almost immediately, she kicks him to the floor and points it at his head. Without hesitation, she pulls the trigger.

"Whoa."

"You're welcome!" Amber whispers as she unties my arms and feet.

"You didn't hesitate at all!"

"You hesitate, you die," she responds. "Besides, it's like the twentieth time I've tried that."

"What?"

She looks back at me. "Never mind."

* * *

Let's face it, I was never the smartest kid in school. I'm not an idiot, but my Mom always told me that I lacked common sense. I guess it makes sense that people assumed I couldn't do anything.

Of course, I'm not exactly sure what the correlation is between book smarts and common sense, but apparently whatever I lacked was enough to get my counselor's attention.

At the end of my freshman year, she called me in and asked me about my future.

"So what do you plan to do with your life?" she asked.

"I don't really know," I said honestly. "I know that I want to help people..."

"Do you want to be a doctor?"

"Maybe."

"A fire fighter?"

I thought for a second. "I'd like to go to a university and get an education in forensic science. Maybe become a police officer or work for the FBI."

"I see," she said slowly. She took her pen and marked up a file with my name on it.

I readjusted myself uncomfortably. "What's the problem?"

She sighed heavily and massaged her brow before she answered. "Well," she began. "You have some high aspirations, Sarah."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Well, I don't want you to get your hopes up."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You're not very smart, Sarah."

"Excuse me?"

"Your test scores are very poor. You'll never get into a university with scores like that."

Her response was surprisingly harsh. I took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. "Well, is there something I can do?"

She just shrugged her shoulders and closed the file. "You might want to re-evaluate your plan."

"Why?"

"I seriously don't think you can do it."

* * *

Amber stands up slowly after she unties me. There is a look of determination in her eyes. As I get out of the chair, my eyes fall back to the man who almost killed me. She looks at me curiously and follows my gaze to him as well. Quickly, she turns around, grabs him by the ankles and pulls his body behind the desk.

"What are you doing?"

"Someone's gotta clean up this mess."

I just shake my head. _How does she keep saving me all the time?_

Amber breathes in deeply after she returns. Her hand trembles slightly with the pistol still weighing it down.

"Where did you get the gun?" I ask curiously, massaging the tender part around my wrists.

Amber nervously brings her arms down to her sides. "I, uh... took it."

"From who?"

"An Agent."

"What?"

"It's a long story, Sarah-"

"Damn it, Amber!" My voice rises just above a whisper. "Give that to me."

She huffs as I take it out of her hands. I check the clip. There are three bullets left. I need to make each shot count. "Was that James with you? Why is he here?" I ask.

"No," she shakes her head, "he just brought me here. He's gone."

"He's what?" I say a little bit louder.

Amber looks at the door and back to me. "Would you be quiet?"

I sigh to let her know how irritated I am.

"He went back to the hospital," she responds passively.

"Why?"

She sighs. "It's a long story. I'll tell you later. Right now we need to figure out what we're gonna do about Jacob and my step-father."

"What do you mean 'we'?"

She ignores my question. Going to the window, she closes it and draws the blinds. "They're both here somewhere."

"Obviously," I take a deep breath to mentally prepare myself for what I'm about to do. "But you're not coming with me."

Her head whips around. "What? But you need me."

"No, Amber. You've done enough."

"I just saved your life. You owe me."

I shake my head. "Not with this. You are neither qualified or have the right tools to help me in a situation like this."

"Well, then you need to call back-up... or whatever it is you FBI people do."

"There's not enough time."

"Sarah, you can't do this by yourself."

"Amber," I say between my teeth. "Don't tell me what I can't do."

She looks into my eyes and matches my glare. "You _can't_ do this by yourself."

Her eyes are piercing. They're strong. But I hate it when people tell me what I can't do. I hate it.

"Stay here, Amber," I say more forcefully. "I can handle this."


	14. You're stronger than you think

**JACOB**

A man slowly approaches me with a look of satisfaction. There's something familiar about him even though we've never met before. He's tall and broad shouldered. He has large hands like my father's. His eyes are unsettling, inspecting me as if he knows who I am. There's something in his face that also reminds me of my father. He looks tired.

And, for some reason, I feel nervous.

"Hello, Jacob," he says in a commanding voice.

I eye him suspiciously. "Uh... Hi."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Mr. Boothe?"

He smiles, slowly nodding his head. "Yes."

A gunshot rings from somewhere inside the house. It makes me jump. "What was that?"

"It's nothing," he states calmly.

I narrow my eyes. Cale told me that Mr. Boothe is a good guy. He said that I'm not a prisoner, I'm not held against my will. But when I look at Mr. Boothe, I don't feel safe. I don't feel like a guest. It occurs to me that Cale could have been lying. I mean, does a good guy really need to say that he's a 'good guy'?

"You don't need to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you," Mr. Boothe says in a surprisingly comforting tone.

I shake my head, trying to calm my breath. "I'm not... I'm not afraid."

"Jacob," he says slowly. He kneels down so we are at eye level. Looking into his eyes makes me feel uncomfortable, but he draws me in with his question.

"Do you know why you are here?"

Silence hangs between us when I do not respond.

"Then allow me to tell you..."

* * *

The car comes to a stop.

Mom and Dad are in another argument.

"Nancy, you are the dumbest person in the world," Dad says under his breath.

"Excuse me?" Mom retaliates. "What did you say?"

"I said: you're stupid!"

I look outside of the window. All of my classmates are getting dropped off by their parents on their first day of kindergarten like me. Unlike them, though, I'm not especially excited about it. Why do they get to have happy Moms and Dads? Why aren't their parents fighting like mine are?

They get hugs and kisses from their Moms and Dads. I get a scary fight.

"We were late getting here because of you. He's going to be late to his first day of school because of you."

"Shut up, Daniel."

I quietly press the big red button on my seat belt. It zips across me with a loud click. I look at Mom and Dad and then to my school.

"Mom?" I ask.

"You don't have an ounce of intelligence in your entire body, do you? I mean, how stupid do you have to be to forget where you put your phone?"

"Just shut up, Daniel! I don't want to hear it."

"Can I go outside now?" I ask.

"You never do anything right-"

"Oh, I forgot! You're so perfect! You never do anything wrong, do you?"

When they do not answer, I unlock the door and push it open. I take a few steps before I turn back to them.

"Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad."

They are still fighting. When they don't say anything back, I turn away and walk towards my class.

* * *

Mr. Boothe tells me about a memory. A memory of when he was thirteen years old, when he went on a family trip with his parents and they told him they were getting a divorce.

Images of the Willis Tower flash in front of my eyes. I see my parents, their faces are locked in sadness. My father's eyes are pained, but when he says _divorce_ I feel the weight of the word all over again. I see Amber as she holds me in the supply closet. She says that everything is going to be okay. As the earthquake tears through the building, she says: Everything is going to be alright.

"I was completely alone," he relates. "A freak disaster and there was no one to help me... But in all of the chaos, I realized that _I_ was the one who caused the earthquake."

_He was the one who caused the earthquake?_

"That was the day my powers manifested, Jacob," he says just above a whisper. "It came with a cost, though... Both of my parents were killed."

My mouth is still open. I lick my lips because they are dry. "This happened to you when you were thirteen?" I say quietly.

"It sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

"Yes," I nod in amazement. "All of it... but how?"

He stands up again, taking a deep breath as he does. "Because _my_ parents were _your_ parents. _My_ life is _your_ life."

"How is that possible?"

"I'm you... thirty years from now."

His words hang dryly in the air, unable to go anywhere else. I'm completely confused. Everything he says is familiar because it basically happened to me, but the reason why is ridiculous.

"You're from the future?" I ask skeptically.

"Yes."

"And... you've traveled back in time."

He smiles and nods his head. He knows I don't believe him.

I hear his words, but they don't make any sense. He looks so certain but I can't help but think: _Time Travel is something out of a movie. It's not real life_. "Do you expect me to believe this?"

"Is it really that hard to believe? Everything I've said is true, isn't it?"

"Yeah, sort of," I say hesitantly. I'm still unconvinced. "But you said that I have powers. _I _don't have powers."

He smirks. "Are you sure about that?"

As much as I want to nod my head, I can't. Am I sure? I don't know anymore.

"You're special, Jacob. You just don't know it yet."

I shake my head. "I've never been special."

"I know," he says understandably. "I know that feeling of invisibility. That feeling of being forgotten. Do you remember the moment your father told you they were getting a divorce?"

I cringe. I hate that moment.

"That was the moment I realized that my parents never cared about me. They never wanted me, they never loved me. All of the smiles that day, the nicknames, the fake sense of happiness. It was a lie."

My shoulders fall back. He knows exactly how I feel. Is that enough evidence to make me believe his story? Even if I do believe him, _he_ was the one who caused the earthquake when he was my age; that means _I _was the one who caused the earthquake yesterday.

"But... I can't destroy a building with my mind," I say out loud.

He gives me an amused smirk. "You're stronger than you think."

"I want to believe you," I whisper, "but Time Travel isn't real. It's from comic books and movies..."

"I sent my men to the morgue, not to Willis Tower. If I wasn't from the future, how else could I know where to find you?"

I shake my head. "I don't know."

Mr. Boothe takes a seat next to me on the couch. "I know this must be hard for you to understand, you've been through a lot. But I'm telling you the truth and I _need_ you to believe me."

"Why?"

"Because unless you change your life now, you are going kill millions of people."

"What?"

"You're going to abuse your power-"

"No..."

"Believe it, Jacob." He sighs heavily. "You become a villain."

_A villain?_

"But," I say out loud, "that means... _you're_ the villain."

"Yes. I was... But I've been here a long time and I've learned a lot. I've repented and I've thought about how to right my wrongs." He places his hand on my shoulder, "And this is the way to do it. This is my purpose." He pauses. "I can help you become the hero that you truly deserve to be."

"But-"

"Jacob. You are the only one who can change everything."

"Don't move!"

I turn my head to see Sarah. She has her gun aimed at Mr. Boothe. _What is she doing here?_

"Don't move, Boothe, I mean it-"

A gunshot rings throughout the house. I jump in fright. Mr. Boothe lowers his hand, smoke slowly rises from the barrel of his pistol. "I thought Cale got rid of her," he growls under his breath. "She's really getting on my nerves."

She grunts in pain. I look back to her. Sarah leans against the wall and slides down to the floor, holding onto her shoulder. The gun hangs loosely at her side. She looks too weak to defend herself.

I turn to Mr. Boothe. "What... what the hell was that?" I stammer.

Mr. Boothe looks at me. "In order for this to work, Jacob, we need to have complete anonymity."

"But you shot her!"

He dismisses my comment and walks over to where she lays.

"What are you doing?"

"She's a necessary casualty."

How can he say that he's a good guy? How can he justify this?

I watch in horror as he approaches her with his gun drawn.

"What are you doing?" I yell again. "You can't kill her!"

Sarah glances at me weakly. Her eyes roll back before her head falls to the side.

"Look at her!" I point frantically. "She's fainting. She needs help."

"You don't understand, Jacob," he responds coldly. "I'm doing this to protect us."

To protect us? How is killing Sarah going to protect us? I don't understand. He said that he isn't a villain anymore. He told me that he wants to _help me _from turning into a villain... but this isn't how it works, this isn't what a hero does. It doesn't matter if his intentions are good. Killing is wrong.

I don't want to become the villain. I don't want to turn into him.

I _won't_ become him.

"You can't kill her!" I yell.

Just as I finish my sentence, an overwhelming surge explodes out of me. I don't feel any pain, but it's so powerful I scream to release the pressure. It's the feeling I had when Amber and I were trapped in the closet, and the result is the same. The entire mansion shakes.

I sit still as it quickly passes through. Was that me?

Mr. Boothe turns. "Do you believe me now?"

I feel cold.

I look at my hands. I can't stop shaking. A tingling sensation rushes through my entire body and leaves me feeling lightheaded. Slowly, I stand up. My legs are weak, but I force myself through it. "What... what was that?"

His eyes pick at me. "You know what that was."

_Power, _I think.

I breathe in slowly as the feeling slowly returns to my fingers.

Mr. Boothe turns around and points his gun at Sarah again.

"Stop!" I yell again. I push my hands in front of myself.

"You're gonna try and stop me?" he states calmly. "You don't know what you're doing."

"I... I know that you shouldn't kill her... that's what I know."

"What are you going to do? Destroy the house? Kill everyone inside?"

I shake my head. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I have to stop him. "Why do you have to kill her?"

"People like us... we don't get second chances with people like her. If I let her go, she'll pursue us. I need to kill her."

"You can't!" I scream. The sensation returns but this time it's stronger. It's the same feeling, as if something is trying to burst out of me. I open my hands and release it.

The walls crack. The mansion trembles. I fall to my knees, completely exhausted. The room spins as I try to catch my breath. I'm still lightheaded from the first one.

Mr. Boothe shakes his head. "You couldn't possibly understand right now..."

I look up. "Please, don't do it."

The door behind him opens. _Is that Amber?_ I think to myself.

"But you will. Everything I'm doing is for you."

"Don't do it," I plea.

"I'm sorry, but this needs to be done."

Another gun shot.

My mouth hangs open in shock.

Mr. Boothe drops his pistol. He stumbles backwards.

Amber stands in the doorway with a pistol of her own.

My hands shake. My mind goes blank.

Mr. Boothe falls onto his hands and knees.

We look into each others eyes, our piercing blue eyes. It is at that moment I realize why he looks so familiar, why he reminds me so much of my father. He has the same look of sadness, a pain so deep it defines him.

"Jacob," he mutters softly. "This doesn't change anything. You... _you_ still have a choice... Don't become the villain."

He grimaces and hangs his head. Slowly, he grabs his stomach. He coughs as blood slowly drops through his fingers onto the tiled flooring. When he collapses, I don't have anything to say. I remain on the floor, trying to process everything that has happened, completely dumbfounded.

* * *

I'm in the back of my Dad's truck, looking up at the night sky. I'm between them underneath a big blanket. Mom reaches down and pulls the blanket closer to my nose before she snuggles closer to me.

"Mom," I say with an embarrassed sigh. "Not so close."

"But your my favorite son."

I chuckle. "I'm your only son."

"All the more reason to snuggle!"

Dad laughs as he puts his big hand on my head. He messes up my hair.

I look at him and smile. I like this moment. I'm happy.

Dad says that once a year he and Mom want to take me on a family vacation. This is the second one. It's not particularly exciting, but this moment is good. It doesn't happen often, but every once in a while, Mom and Dad will stop fighting long enough to enjoy something. They're doing it now. They aren't fighting.

"Did you see that one, Jay?" Dad whispers.

I look up as a shooting star flies across the black canvas. "Whoa."

"That was cool, wasn't it?" Mom says to me.

"Yeah."

A cold breeze whips the blanket off of us. Shivering, I put my hands together and rub them for some heat. Mom quickly recovers the blanket and puts it back over us. Without thinking, I take both of their hands into mine and put them together.

Dad takes a deep breath and pulls his hand away, instead putting it over my shoulders. Mom clears her throat and readjusts her seat.

My eyes feel like lead. It's late and I'm tired.

"Good night," I say quietly.

"Good night," they say back.

* * *

"Jacob," Amber says to me.

I snap out of my daze. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

Too much has happened. I can hardly process my own thoughts.

"It's okay," she says softly, giving me a hug. "Everything is going to be fine. I'm here now."

Instinctively, I hug her back. And I don't let go. Amber always knows how to make me feel safe. She always seems to be one who protects me. It seems like it's been forever since we've seen each other. I know it's only been a day but, in all of the commotion, I forgot how much I miss her.

She steps back and gives me a reassuring smile. "I'm gonna go check on Sarah. I'll be back to check on you."

I nod my head as she leaves.

"Hey," she whispers to her. "Are you okay?"

Sarah stirs.

Amber lightly slaps her in the face. "Hey, you okay?"

Her eyes snap open, surprised by the rude awakening. She looks around and sees Mr. Boothe on the floor. "What happened?"

"I... I killed him," Amber replies. "But how are you feeling?"

"I'll live," she responds, grabbing her shoulder again.

"I know you told me not to do anything..."

Sarah shakes her head. "You did the right thing... I guess that's twice you've saved my life."

Amber smiles happily. "Let's just call it even. So what are you going to do now?"

Sarah sighs and pulls out her cell phone. She dials a number. "Dispatch. This is Agent Sarah White," she says. "We need a team down at the Boothe Mansion, ASAP."

Amber takes a long breath to mentally compose herself. She looks at me. She smiles to let me know that it's over. After the earthquake, my parent's death, after being kidnapped, the nightmare is over. And I believe her.

It's finally done.


	15. Do you remember the first time we met?

**JAMES**

I enter into the hospital right outside of the room where I left Haley. I take a breath before opening the door. So many thoughts enter into my mind. So many emotions course through me. Uncertainty. Fear. Frustration. It's almost too much to handle.

The nurse tending to her looks up when I come in. I wait patiently, waiting for her to finish up. After a quick nod, she wraps her stethoscope around the back of her neck and begins to leave.

I gently grab her arm. "How is she doing?" I say quietly.

The nurse looks at me and forces a short smile. "She's stable for now."

It isn't what I want to hear. I want to hear that she's doing fine. I want to hear that she's recovering. Not _she's stable for now_. What's that supposed to mean? What about tomorrow? Will she still be stable tomorrow?

I don't say anything though. There is nothing she can do. "Thank you," I say weakly.

She nods again and leaves.

The room is cold and empty. The only light comes through a small sliver through the drawn curtains. The only sound comes from the blipping of her heart rate. My feet are so heavy. Every step is harder to take than the last.

I sit down next her bed, gently grabbing at her hand. Her fingers immediately reach for mine. She turns her head slowly. She strains to reposition herself, but manages to let out a smile. "Hey," she whispers.

She's unable to move without feeling pain. It hurts me to see her like this.

"Hey," I say back.

"Where did you go?"

"I had to do something, but it's done. I'm here now."

"That's good. I want you here."

I only smile.

She closes her eyes as she takes a breath.

I look at the heart monitor. The constant pulse is comforting. As long as it continues to go up and down, she's still with me. I don't want to lose her.

"How do you feel?" I ask.

She licks her dry lips and smiles. "I feel like singing."

I shake my head. "Come on, Haley. Be serious."

"You're no fun," she playfully pouts.

I hang my head. "It's hard to be fun right now."

Everyone wants to have a purpose in their life. Everyone wants to be defined by someone special. I have that in Haley. She's _my_ purpose. She's _my_ definition. The thought of losing her, losing someone I love, is a pain I cannot explain.

"James," she says softly.

"What?"

"Look at me."

Our eyes meet.

"Do you remember the first time we met?"

"Of course. How could I forget?"

She smiles. "Me too. You were so strange as a teenager."

"I was such a stupid kid back then."

"No, you were cute."

I chuckle. "If you say so."

"Do you remember what you used to call me?"

I nod my head.

"Please say it. I haven't heard it in a long time."

I lean down and kiss the back of her hand. "Dear Haley."

"I loved when you called me that."

"I know," I laugh. "That's why I said it a lot. I loved seeing how it made you smile."

She tries to reposition herself so that she can face me, but she grimaces in pain. I hold my breath, waiting for it to subside. Despite it, she manages to bend the corners of her lips. "You always know how to make me smile."

My heart sinks. Remembering all of those moments full of her smiles and laughs makes me happy, it reminds me of how much I truly love her. But it also makes me sad because it reminds me how afraid I am of losing her.

She places her other hand on mine. "What's wrong?"

A powerful feeling grips my stomach. Thinking it is one thing, but saying it out loud is completely different.

She sees me and grabs my hand more tightly.

"Haley," I begin to say. My voice wavers as I try to fight back the tears that begin to form. "I hate seeing you like this..."

She listens in silence.

"I don't want to lose you again."

My words hang in the air without a response. She slowly moves a lock of hair behind her ear. "Look at me, James."

My body won't commit, but I force myself to look into her eyes.

"There are some things we can't control," she says. "There's no way to tell what the future holds for us. In the end, we can't stop death, we can't reverse time. If I die tomorrow, there is nothing we can do about it. We need to accept it for what it is."

She's right but it doesn't make it any easier to deal with it.

"But there is one thing we can control."

"What?"

"How we feel about each other."

The feeling in my stomach slowly begins to untangle. Her words are the comfort I need.

"Do you love me?" she asks tenderly.

I nod my head. "Of course."

She smiles. "Good, 'cause you will never lose me."

Her words hit me like a gust of wind.

"I'm all in, James. I know what I said before, but I changed my mind. I want to go where you go. I want to live where you live." She pauses to wipe her glossy eyes. "No matter what happens, I want to be with you."

Her words give me the strength to smile.

"'Cause I love you too."

I cannot help but laugh out of happiness. A powerful feeling of euphoria overrides any sadness that I had before. Without a second thought, I lean in and kiss her. She giggles and kisses back.

Haley is right. There are some things about our future that are uncertain. It's just a fact of life. But when we are confident in a reality, we can actually appreciate what we have now, we can stop becoming overly anxious about what we can't control.

I know how I feel about her. I know how she feels about me. It's real. There's nothing death can do about it.

I look into her eyes. They glimmer beautifully in the morning's sunlight. She smiles and tells me to get on the bed with her. When I do, she drops her head on my shoulder. Delicately, her fingers dance between mine. I kiss the top of her head and wait for the future to come.

It doesn't matter how long we have. I'm here with her now. And that's what important.

I take a deep breath.

A simple smile from Haley somehow makes it easier to breath, to think clearly, to hope in something better.


	16. I heard you used to be a field agent

**SARAH**

I stare blankly at my reflection in my coffee cup. The dull and faded image of my face is ordinary, just like everything else in my life.

I'm in the break room of New York City's Missing Person's Unit. If it doesn't sound exciting, it's because it isn't. Just another paper pushing dead end job.

God. Nothing exciting ever happens to me.

Bob, a low-level coworker, comes in and waves before he heads for the coffee machine. I flick my head in response.

"How's the brew this morning?"

I gesture a thumbs down. "It sucks."

"Dang," he says, feigning disappointment. "When will they learn that it's always better to have the temps get Starbucks?"

I raise my eyebrows to acknowledge his otherwise uninspired comment.

"It's Sarah, right?" he says taking a seat in front of me.

"Yup."

"You just moved to this department, didn't you?"

"Yup."

He takes a sip of his coffee in the following silence. I get the impression that he's trying to think of another question to ask that won't end in a one-lined answer. I sigh and go to the sink to dump out the contents of my drink.

"So..." Bob begins. "I heard you used to be a field agent."

I toss the cup in the trash can. "Who told you that?"

"I've heard it around the office."

I sit back down. "Yeah. I was transferred down here."

"That sucks for you. Why were you transferred?"

"I almost got my best friend killed in Chicago."

"Oh." He wasn't expecting my answer. He nervously takes another sip to think of something else to say. "Uh... what happened?"

I look at him for a split second, deciding whether or not I should tell him everything or just part of the story. He leans back into his chair and takes another sip, grimacing at the foul aftertaste.

"Well," I begin. "There was a kidnapping. It was a pretty high profile case and I wanted to help. We got really far, but in the end, I jeopardized it."

"How?"

I chuckle lightly. "Let's just say I don't follow orders very well."

He nods his head understandingly. "I see. So your friend almost died?"

"She was chasing a bad guy and was attacked in a hospital while I was off trying to solve the case by myself."

"Wow."

"I don't blame her for getting mad at me. I had a lead and I took it without her consent. Since I wasn't in her division, she was held responsible for my actions. She filed a report of the whole thing and I was sent down here, in the lowest level of the MPU."

"It's not _that_ bad."

"Yeah," I say half-halfheartedly. "But I don't see my future being anything more than this anymore."

"I'm guessing you had pretty big dreams about your future."

I nod my head. "I guess you could say that. Let's just say that I didn't envision myself at a desk job while I was in the FBI."

He chuckles. "You'll be fine, Sarah. Keep your chin up."

I shrug unappreciatively. "Thanks."

He finishes up the remains of his cup with a regretful frown. I can't help but laugh.

"I'll see you around, Sarah."

"Yeah. Bye," I reply.

Once again, I am left alone in the break room. I look at my surroundings. It's small and unimpressive. Just talking about what happened in Chicago makes me feel the same way.

The case ended relatively well when you look at it on paper. Jacob was found and recovered. Mr. Boothe was stopped. Three for three. I mean, if you look at it on paper, you'd be impressed. But no one seems to recognize it for what it is.

One act of disobedience and I'm pushed aside, punished for my acts of heroism.

Story of my life.

A hero among ordinary people.

I thought it was my time to shine. I thought my destiny was finally going to be realized. I guess my future is still like a blank sheet of paper. My destiny is still out there somewhere. And, like always, I'm here, patiently waiting for it to arrive.

All I know is that I'm not going to give up. My time will come. One day this ordinary person will be a hero.


	17. So what happens now?

**AMBER**

I take a breath to recompose myself. I look to Jacob. I smile to assure him that everything will be alright. Sarah makes a call to dispatch. I'm still holding onto the pistol I took from my step-father's henchman. I look at it and see my distorted reflection. I turn to see my step-father's body.

The gun falls with a loud thump. I can't hold it any longer. It's weird. It took multiple tries to shoot James' and Haley's captors. Even to shoot the guy who was going to kill Sarah. I had to reverse time because I couldn't bring myself to do it on the first try.

But not this time.

This time I saw and I acted. It's as simple as that. No second try, no second guessing. I killed him. And I felt good doing it.

What does that mean? How can a person enjoy murdering someone else?

Sure, he deserved it, but I thought I'd be more relieved.

* * *

The rest of the day goes by in a blur.

I get interrogated about the events of the past two days over and over again. Each question they ask me is the same. Each answer I give them is the same. And by the end, I just want to get out of there.

I tell them what I know. The truth, of course. I don't know everything about my step-father's criminal organization or about why he kidnapped Jacob, but I answer to the best of my ability. Sarah assures me that I did what I had to in order to protect her. She says it was in self-defense.

But still. I'm forced to ask myself: _What does the future hold for me?_

_

* * *

_

I sit on a bench just outside of the FBI headquarters. Jacob is giving his statements and I'm waiting for him.

The world is a funny place. People go their entire lives trying to rewrite the wrongs of their past. Rarely does a person actually get a chance to do so. I feel as if killing my step-father is a second chance. Now I can live my life without the burden and stress of dealing with him. Now I can grow to become the person I'm meant to be.

Jacob walks through the double doors, taking a seat next to me.

"How'd it go?" I ask.

He shrugs and looks at his feet. "It went fine I guess. I've never done that before."

I nod my head. "How are you holding up?"

He sighs. "I don't know. A lot has happened. I go from having a family to having none in a day... I feel like there's nothing for me now."

"What do you mean?"

He looks at me. "I mean, what's going to happen now? I don't have a family."

"Oh."

"You remember how I told you that I felt like I was alone when my parents spent all of their time arguing and fighting?"

"Yeah."

"Now it's true. Now I'm literally alone."

I still feel bad for him. All he wants is to belong, to have an identity where he isn't invisible. His parents never gave him the attention he deserves and now that they're no longer here, he thinks there's no one who will love him.

"Do you really believe that?" I ask.

He nods his head slowly. "Yeah."

"Well, it's not true," I say strongly. "Don't believe it for a second."

"Why?"

"'Cause you have me, kid."

He chuckles timidly. "Yeah? And what good is that going to do?"

I playfully mess with his hair. "You should feel lucky that you have someone like me in your life!"

His laugh trails off into silence. Quietly, he brings his eyes back down to his feet. "Do you mean that, Amber?"

"Of course. I don't have a family anymore either. I don't know what's going to happen in the future, but I know that I want to be there for you."

"You promise?"

I put my arm over his shoulder and mess his hair up again. "I promise. You're like my little brother."

He smiles.

I look out at the city street as the Chicago traffic comes to a halt. A cold gust of wind enters between the buildings. I wrap my jacket tightly around myself. Jacob pulls his hood over his head, readjusting the sling around his arm as he does.

"So what happens now?" He asks in the lingering silence.

That's the question, isn't it? There's so much life to live, so many new experiences to have. There's so much room to grow. The world doesn't stop spinning just because something good happens to us. The future is such an enigma. There's no way to know what will happen next.

I just shrug my shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine."


	18. An extraordinary hero

**JACOB**

It takes less than thirty seconds to make a decision. It takes one decision to change the course of history forever. One change could branch of into any infinite number of possibilities that could affect the lives of millions of people. When you think about it, the choices we make are really important.

I mean, with one decision we could become the hero or the villain.

Mr. Boothe made a decision in his life that made him the villain. Will I do the same? Even though he's the me from the future, does that mean I'm destined to turn into him, to make the same choices he made? His presence before my birth could've altered my life in a subtle but very drastic way. Or it could've been the action that will send me down his path and ultimately turn me into him anyway.

I don't know.

One thing is for sure: he was convinced that he could help me along a different road than the one he took.

_You still have a choice, _he said. _Don't be the villain._

Does that mean, in the end, after all is said and done, it's _my_ choice? Is the future written in stone? I guess that's the point. There's really no way of knowing. You have to act in order to find out.

I guess, I can't be afraid to move forward. If I have people who love me, someone to help me along, like Amber, I have to look to the future with hope. And it's my hope that I don't become a villain.

I hope to become a hero. An extraordinary hero.

**The End**

**

* * *

**

26 November 2010

Well, that's my story. I hope you enjoyed it. This basically concludes the Trilogy I was writing. I don't know if you noticed, but in chronological order it goes: Dear Haley, Extraordinary Heroes, and then Ordinary People. I want to especially thank Inspector Brown and MegalegU for the loyal reviews, I really appreciate it. And I also appreciate everybody else who reviewed. Thank you.

This one was definitely different than Ordinary People (come to think of it, this was really different than Dear Haley too) but I'm really proud of it. It really stretched me as a writer and it had everything I like in a story: perspective, characters, and choices. I haven't quite decided, but I think this is the last multi-chapter story I'm going to write for Heroes. It's been fun these last four years, and I appreciate everyone who's followed me during that time, but I think it's time to move on to other things. I'm not opposed to writing another one, but it takes a lot of time (I mean, Extraordinary Heroes took almost 3 years to finish). And, if I do, I want it to be awesome. I want it to be epic. Different than the sentimental dramas I've written like Dear Haley and Extraordinary Heroes. I want it to be something big... If I do end up writing another :)

Thanks again everyone!

-bob


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